The Columbian orator : containing a variety of original and selected pieces, together with rules, calculated to improve youth and others in the ornamental and useful art of eloquence

ntorattij of J^ittaburgt}

arlington Memorial Library

.aHH^.i;-...^..e^«..o.

THE

COLUMBIAN orator:

CONTAINING

A VARIETY OF

ORIGINAL AND SELECTED PIECES;

TOGETHER WITH

RULES:

CALCULATED

TO IMPROVE YOUTH AND OTFTFRS IN THE

ORNAMENTAL AND USEFUL

ART OF ELOQUENCE.

By CALEB BINGHAM, A, M.

Author erf the American Preceptor, Young Lady's Accidence, &c

"Cato cultivated ELOQUETiCE, as a necessary mean for defending THE
RIGHTS OF THE PEOPLE, and for enforcing good Counsels."

ROLLIN.

Stereotype Edition.

BOSTOJ^:

printed for CALEB BINGHAM AND CO.

ABd Sold at their Book-Store, No. 43 Corohill. .

t817.

DISTRICT OP MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT :

BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twentieth day of
November, A. D. 1810, and in the thirty-fifth Year of the In-
dependence of the United States of America, Caleb Bing-
ham of the said District, has deposited in this Office the title
of a Book, the right whereof he claims as Author, in the
words following, to wit : " The Columbian Orator : con-
taining a variety of original and selected pieces ; together
with rules ; calculated to improve youth and others in the
ornamental and useful art of eloquence. By Caleb Bing-
ham, A. m. author of the American Preceptor, Young Lady's
Accidence, &c. " Cato cultivated eloquence, as a necessary
mean for defending the rights of the people, and for enforcing
good counsels." RoUin.

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United
States, entitled, " An Act for the encouragement of learning,
by sectiring the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the
Authors and Proprietors of such Copies, during the times
therein mentioned ;" and also to an Act entitled, *' An Act
supplementary to an Act, entitled, An Act for the encourage-
ment of learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and
Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such copies during
the times therein mentioned ; and extending the benefits
thereof td the Arts of Designing, Engraving and Etching His-
torical, and other prints."

ixr o c ^ Clerk of the District

William S. Shaw, ^ „j- Mismchusetts.

Stereotyped by B. k. J. Collins, Tvew-York.

PREFACE.

NOTWITHSTAjYDIKG the multiplicity of School^
Books now in use, it has been often suggested, that a
Selection, calculated particularly for Dialogue and
Declamation, would be of extensive utility in our
seminaries.

The art of Oratory needs no encomium. To cultivate
its rudiments, and diffuse its spirit among the Youth of
America, is the design of this Book.

Of tha many pieces which this volume contains,
three only are to be found in any publication of the
kind. A large proportion is entirely original. To

'Hhose, who have assisted him in this part, the author re-

^turns his zcarmest acknowledgments.

The COLUMBIAN ORATOR is designed for a
Second Part to the AMERICAN PRECEPTOR : fo^
this reason, no pieces are inserted from that book.

As no advantage could arise from a methodical ar-
rangement, the Author has preferred variety to sys-
yern. In his choice of materials, it has been his object
Jo select such as should inspire the pupil zoith the ardour
^.of eloquence, and the love of virtue. He has spared
no pains to render the Work, in every respect, worthy
Jfthe generous patronage, which a liberal public have
'^estowed on his former publications

CONTENTS.

PAGE.

/~^ ENERAL Instructions for Speaking - - 7

^^ Oration on Eloquence - - Perkins 30

Speech in Congress, 1789 - - Washington 34
Speech of a Roman General - - P. Emilius 36
Exhortation on Temperance in Pleasure - Blair 38
Judah's Plea for Benjamin, before Joseph - Philo 41
Plea in behalf of Thomas Muir - - Mum 43

On the starry Heavens ... Hervey 44

Paper, a Poem - - - . Franklin 46

Speech before the Roman Senate - - Cato 48
Dialogue between Duellist, Savage, and Mercury

Littleton 50
Speech of an Indian Chief - - - - 54

On the Creation of the World ... Blair 55
Lines spoken by a little Boy - - - Everett 57
Speech in the British Parliament, 1766 - Pitt 58

Scene from the Farce of Lethe - - Garrick 61
Eulogy on Dr. Franklin - - . Fauchet 64

Epilogue to Addison's Cato . - - - 69

Self-Conceit, an Address by a small Boy - - 70

Dialogue bet'.veen Howard and Lester - - 72

Christ's Crucifixion - - - Cumberland 74

The Wonders of Nature - - Hervey 77

Dialogue on Physiognomy - - - 79

Oration at the Festival of Gratitude - - Carnot 82
Address to the President of the United States - Adet 85
President's Answer - - Washington 87

The oppressive Landlord, a Dialogue - - 88

Speech in the British Parhament, 1770 - Mansfield 94
On the Day of Judgment - - Davies 97

Christ triumphant over the apostate Angels Milton 100
Slaves in Barbary, a Drama in two Acts - Everett 102
Speech in the British Parliament, 1770 - - Pitt 119
Plea before a Roman Court - - Socrates 122

Dialogue on Cowardice and Knavery - - 126

Speech in the British ParUament - - Sheridan 130
Extract from an Oration against Catiline - Cicero 131
Description of the first American Congress Barlow 133
Speech of a French General to his Army Buonaparte 135
Reflections over the Grave of a young Man Hervey 136
Scene from the Drama of " Moses in the Bulrushes"

A 2 [H.Mobe 137

vi. CONTENTS.

Speech of a Roman General - - -
Speech in tlie British Parliament, 1784
Address to the People of the U. States
Dialogue on the Choice of Business for
Speech of a French General
Speech in the British Parliament, 1777

PAGE.

C.Cassius 142

Erskine
Washington
Life

Buonaparte
Pitt

144
147
150
154
156

Di alogue between a Schoolmaster and School-Committee 1 58
Speech in the British Pariiament, 1770 - - Pitt 165
On the general Judgment Day - Dwight

On the Works of Creation and Providence - Hervey
Speech in the British Parliament, 1770 - - Fox
The Conjurer, a Dialogue - - Everett

Speech in the British Parliament, 1775 - Pitt
Speech of the Caledonian General - Galgachus
Modern Education, a Dialogue - - -

On the Existence of God, a Sermon - - Maxcy
The Dignity of Human Nature - Burges

Infernal Conference - - - Cumberland
Speech in the British Parhament, 1777 - Pitt
On the Day of Judgment - - - Young

The dissipated Oxford Student Altered from Burney
Speech in Congress, on the British Treaty - Ames
Oration on Independence, July 4, 1796 - - Blake
General Description of America, a Poem Everett

Dialogue between a Master and Slave - Aikin

Speech in the Irish Parliament - - O'Connor
Scene from the Tragedy of Tamerlane - Rowe
Speech in the British Parliamelit - - Barre
The Last Day - - - Everett

Dialogue on Loquacity
American Sages . . -

Speech in the British Parliament, 1777
Scene from the Tragedy of Cato
Oration delivered at Boston, July 4, 1794
Dialogue between a White Man and an Indian Everett
Oration, pronounced at Boston, July 4, 1796 Lathrop
Dialogue between Edward and Harry
David and Goliath

Oration on the Powers of Eloquence
Dialogue on Civilization
Oration on the Manumission of Slaves
A Forensic Dispute

Barlow

Pitt

Addison

Phillips

Everett
H. More

Miller
Everett

(^ration delivercc! at Boston, March Sth, 1780 Mas-on

THE

COLUMBIAN ORATOR, &c.

INTRODUCTION.

General Directions for Speaking ;
from various authors.

EXTRACTED

OF PRONUNCIATION IN GENERAL.

THE best judges among the ancients have repre-
sented Pronunciation, which they likewise called
Action, as the principal part of an orator's province ;
from whence he is chiefly to expect success in the art
of persuasion. When Cicero, in the person of Crassus,
has largely and elegantly discoursed \ipon all the other
parts of oratory, coming at last to speak of this, he says,
" All the former have their effect as they are pronoun-
ced. It is the action alone which governs in speaking ;
without which the best orator is of no value ; and is
often defeated by one, in other respects, much his in-
ferior." And he lets us know, that Demosthenes was
of the same opinion ; who, when he was asked what
was the principal thing in oratory, replied, Action ;
and being asked again a second and a third time, what
was Hext considerable, he still made the same answer.

AncJ,

8 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

And, indeed, if he had not judged this highly neces-
sary for an orator, he would scarcely have taken so
much pains in correcting those natural defects, under
which he laboured at first, in order to acquire it. For
he had both a weak voice, and likewise an impediment
in his speech, so that lie could not pronounce distinctly
some particular letters. The former of which defects
he conquered, partly by speaking as loud as he could
upon the shorej when the sea roared and was boister-
ous ; and partly by pronouncing long periO'.is ris he
walked up hill ; both of which methods contributed
to strengthen his voice. And he found means to ren-
der his pronunciation more clear and articulate, by the
help of some little stones put under his tongue. Nor
was he less careful in endeavouring to gain the habit
of a becoming and decent gesture; for which purpose
he used to pronounce his discourses alone before a large
glass. And because he had an ill custom of drawing
up his shoulders when he spoke, to amend that,, lie
used to place them under a swoixl, which hung over
him with the point downv/ard.

Such pains did this prince of the Grecian orators take "
to remove those diiliculties, which would have been
sufficient to discourage an inferior, and less aspiring
genius. And to how great a perfection he arrived in
his action, under all these disadvantages, by his inde-
fatigable diligence and application, is evident from the
confession of his great adversary and rival in oratory,
Eschines ; who, when he could not bear the disgrace of
being worsted by Demosthenes in the cause of Ctesipii^n,
retired to Rhodes. And being desired by the inhab-
itants, he recited to them his own oration upon that
occasion ; the next day they requested of him to let them
hear that of Demosthenes ; which, having pronounced
in a most graceful manner, to the admiration of all who
were present, '* How much more (says he) would you
bav.e v/ondered, if you had heard him speak it himself!"

We might add to these authorities the judgment of
Quintilian j who says, that " It is not of so much mo-
ment

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. &

inent what our compositions are, as how they are pro-
nounced ; since it is the manner of the delivery, hy
which the audience is moved."

" The truth of this sentiment of the ancients, concera-
ing the power and efficacy of pronunciation, might be
proved from many instances ; but one or two may here
suffice. Hortensius, a cotcmporary with Cicero, and
while living, next to hijn in reputation as an orator,
was highly applauded for his action. But his orations
after his death, as Quintilian tells us, did not appear
answerable to his character; from whence he justly
concludes, there must have been something pleasing
when he spoke, by which he gained.-feis character,
which was lost in reading them.

But perhaps there is scarcely a more considerable in-
stance of this than in Cicero himself. After the death
of Pompey, when Cesar had gotten the government
into his own hands, many of his acquaintance interce-
ded with him in behalf of their relations and friends,
who had been of the contrary party in the late wars.
Among others, Cicero solicited for his friend Ligarius ;
which, Tubero understanding, who owed Ligarius a
grudge, opposed ; and undertook to represent him lo
Cesar as unworthy of his mercy. Cesar himself was
prejudiced agahist Ligarius ; and therefore, when the
cause was come before him, he said, " We may
venture to hear Cicero display his eloquence ; for I
know the person, he pleads for to be an ill man, and'
my enemy."

But, however, in the course 6f his oration, Cicero so
wrought upon his passions, that by the frequent altera-
tion in his countenance, the emotions of his mind were
very conspicuous. And when he came to touch upon
the battle of Pharsalia, which had given Cesar the em-
pire of the world, he represented it in such a moving
and lively manner, that Cesar could no longer contain
him.self, but was thrown into such a fit of shivering,
that he dropped the papers which he held in his hand.
This was the more remarkable, because Cesar was him-
self

10 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

self one of the greatest orators of that age ; knew all
the arts of address, and avenues to the passions ; and con-
sequently was better prepared to guard against them.

But neither his skill, nor resolution of mind, was of
sufficient force against tiie power of oratory ; but the
conqueror of the world became a conquest to the charms
of Cicero's eloquence ; so that, contrary to his inten-
tion, he pardoned Ligarius. Now that oration is still
extant, and appears exceedingly well calculated to
touch the soft and tender passions and springs of the
soul ; but v»'c believe it can scarcely be discernible to
any, in reading it, how it should have had so surprising
an effect ; which must therefore have been chiefly ow-
ing to the wonderful address of the speaker.

The more natural the pronunciation is, the more
moving it will be ; since the perfection of art consists
in its nearest resemblance to nature. And therefore
it is not without good reason, that the ancients make
it one qualification of an orator, that he he o. good man ;
because a person of this character will make the cause
he espouses his own ; and the more sensibly he is
touched with it himself, the more natural will be his
action ; and, of course, the more easily will he affect
others. Cicero says, " It is certain that truth (by
which he means nature) in every thing excels, imita-
tion ; but if that \\ei:e sufficient of itself in action, we
should have no occasion for art."

In his opinion therefore (and who was ever a better
judge ?) art, in this case, as well as in many others, if
well managed, will assist and improve nature. But this
is not all ; for sometimes we find the force of it so great
and powerful, that, where it is wholly counterfeit, it
will for the time work the same effect as if it were
founded in truth. This is well known to those who
have been conversant with the representations of the
theatre. In tragedies, though w^e are sensible that
every thing we see and hear is counterfeit ; yet such is
the power of action, that we are oftentimes affected by
it in the same manner as if it were all reality.

Anger

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. U

Anger and resentment at the appearance of cruelty,.'
concern and solicitude for distressed virtue, rise in our i
breasts ; and tears are extorted from us for oppressed
innocence : though at the same time, perhaps, we are
ready to laugh at ourselves for being thus decoyed. If
art then has so great an influence upon us, when sup-
ported by fancy and imagination only, how powerful
must be the effect of a just and lively representation of
what we know to be true.

How agreeable it is, both to nature and reason, that a
warmth of expression and vehemency of motion should
rise in {proportion to the importance of the subject, and
concern of the speaker, will further appear by looking
back a little into the more early and simple ages of the
world. For the higher we go, the more we shall find
of both. The Romans had a very great talent this
way, and the Greeks a greater. The eastern nations
excelled in it, and particularly the Hebrews.

Nothing can equal the strength and vivacity of the
figures they employed in their discourse, and the very
actions they used, to express their sentiments ; such as
putting ashes on their heads, tearing their garments,
and covering themselves with sackcloth under any deep
distress and sorrow of mTu^. And hence, no doubt,
arose those surprising efiects of eloquence, which we
never experience now.

And what is said here, with respect to the action of
the eastern nations, was in a good measure customary
among the Greeks and Romans 4 if not entirely of the
same kind, yet perhaps as vehement and expressive.

They did not think language of itself sufficient to ex-
press the height of their passions, unless enforced by
uncommon motions and gestures. Thus, when Achil-
les had driven the Trojans into their city with the
greatest precipitation and terror, and only Hector ven-
tured to tarry without the gates to engage him. Homer
represents both king Priam and his queen under the
highest consternation for the dangeY of their son. And
therefore, in order to prevail with him to come into the

city

iS THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

city and not fight with Achilles, they not only entreat
him from the walls in the most tender and moving lan-
guage imaginable ; but they tear off their grey looks
with their hands, and adjure him to comply with their
request.

The poet knew very well, that no words of them-
selves could represent those agonies of mind he endeav-
oured to convey, unless heightened by the idea of such
actions as were expressive of the deepest sorrow, in
one of Cicero's orations, he does not stick to argue in this
manner with his adversary. " Would you talk thus
(says he) if you were serious ? Would you, who are
wont to display your eloquence so warmly in the danger
of others, act so coldly in your own? Where is that
concern, that ardour which used to extort pity even
from children ? Here is no emotion either of mind or
body; neither the forehead struck, nor the thigh;
nor so much as a stamp of the foot. Therefore, you
have been so far from inflaming our minds, that you
have scarcely kept us awake.''

The ancients had persons, whose proper business it
was to teach them how to regulate and manage their
voice ; and others, who instructed them in the whole
art of pronunciation, both ^^ to their voice and gestures.
These latter were generally taken from the theatre,
being some eminent experienced actors. But though
they made use of actors to instruct their youth in form-
ing their speech and gestures; yet the action ofao or-
ator was very different from that 6f the theatre.

Cicero very plainly represents this distinction, in the
words of Crassus ; when speaking of orators, he says,
" The motions of the body ought to be suited to the
expressions, not in a theatrical way, mimicking the
words by particular gesticulations ; but in a manner
expressive of the general sense ; with a sedate and manly
inflection of the sides ; not taken from the stage and
actors, but from the exercise of arms and the palestra."
And Quintilian says to the same purpose, " Every
gesture and motion of the comedians is not to be imi-
tated,

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 13

taled, nor to the same degree. They thought the
action of th© theatre too light and extravagant for the
imitation of an orator ; and therefore, though they
employed actors to inform young persons in the first
rudiments, yet they were afterwards sent to schools, de- .
signed on purpose to teach them a decent and graceful
management of their bodies.

Being thus far prepared, they were afterwards sent
to the schools of the rhetoricians. And here, as their
business was to cultivate their style, and gain the whole
art of eloquence, so particularly to acquire a just and
accurate pronunciation by those exercises, in which for
that end they were constantly employed. Nor, after
all this pains and industry, did they yet think them-
selves sufficiently qualified to take upon them the char-
acter of orators. But it was their constant custom to
get together some of their friends and acquaintance,
who were proper judges of such performances, and
declaim before them in private.
^ The business of these persons was to make observa-
tions both on their language and pronunciation. And
they were allowed the greatest freedom to take notice
of any thing thought to be amiss, either as to inaccuracy
of method, impropriety of stvle, or indecency of their
voice or actions. This gav-'f them an opportunity to
correct any such defects at fct, lefore they became
habitual. What effects might not justly be expected
from such an institution ? Persons trained up in this
manner, with all those advartages, joined to a good
natural genius, C9uld not fail of making very complete
orators. Though even after they came to appear in
public, they did not lay aside the custom of declaiming.

The influence of sounds, either to raise or allay our
passions, is evident from music. And certainly the
harmony of a fine discourse, well and gracefully pro-
nounced, is as capable of moving us, if not in a way
so violent and ecstatic, yet not less powerful, and more
agreeable to our rational faculties. As persons are dif-
ferently affected when they speak, so they naturally
B aher

14 THE COLUMBlAiN ORATOR.

alter the tone of their voice, though they do not attend
to it. It rises, sinks, and has various inflections given
it, according to the present state and disposition of the
mind. When the mind is calm and sedate, the voice is
moderate and even ; when the former is dejected with
sorrow, the latter is languid ; and when that is inflamed
by passion, this is elevated.

It is the orator's business, therefore, to follow nature,
and to endeavour that the tone of his voice appear natural
and unaffected. An J for this end, he must take care to
suit it to the nature of the subject ; but still so as to be
always grave and decent. Some persons continue a
discourse in such a low and drawling manner, that they
can scarcely be heard by their audience. Others again
hurry on in so loud and boisterous a manner, as if they
imagined their hearers were deaf. But all the music
and harmony of voice lies between these extremes.

Perhaps nothing is of more importance to a speaker,
than a proper attention to accent, emphasis, and ca-
dence. Every word in our language, of more than one
syllable, has, at least, one accented syllable. This sylla-
ble ought to be rightly known, and the word should be
pronounced by the speaker in the same manner as he
would pronounce it in o^'dj^nary conversation. By em-
phasis, we distinguish those words in a sentence which
we esteem the most imp<'rtant, by laying a greater
stress of voice upon then? than we do upon the others.
And it is surprising to observe how the sense of a
phrase may be altered b^ varying the emphasis. The
following example will serve as an illustration.

This short question, '* Will you ride to town to-
day V' may be understood in four different ways, and,
consequently, may receive four different answ^ers, ac-
cording tQ, the placing of the emphasis.

If it be pronounced thus ; Will you ride to town
to-day ? the answer may properly be. No ; I shall send
my son. If thus ; Will you ride to town to-day ?
Answer, No; T intend to walk. Will you ride to

toTsn

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 15

town to-day ? No ; I shall ride into the counU-y. Will
you ride to town to-day? No ; but 1 shall to-morrow. .

This shows how necessary it is that a speaker should
know how to place his emphasis. And the only rule
for this is, that he study to attain a just conception of
the force and spirit of the sentiments which he delivers.
There is as great a difference between one who lays
his emphasis properly, and one who pays no regard to
it, or places it wrong, as there is between one who
plays on an instrument with a masterly hand, and the
most bungling performer.

Cadence is the reverse of emphasis. It is a depres-
sion or lowering of the voice ; and commonly falls up-
on the last syllable in a sentence. It is varied, how-
ever, according to the sense. When a question is
asked, it seldom falls upon the last word ; and many
sentences require no cadence at all.

Every person who speaks in public, should endeavour,
if he can, to fill the place where he speaks. But still
he ought to be careful not to exceed the natui*a4 key
of his voice. If he does, it will neither be soft nor
agreeable ; but either harsh and rough, or too shrill and
squeaking. Besides, he will not be able to give every
syllable its full and distinct sound ; which vr'Il render
what he says obscure, and difficult to be understood.
He should therefore take care to keep his voice within
reach, -so as to have it under management, that he may
raise or sink it, or give it any inflection he thinks prop-
er ; which it will not be in his power to do, if he put
a force upon it, and strain it, beyond its natural tone.-

The like caution is to be used against the contrary
extreme, that the voice be not suffered to sink too low.
This will give the speaker pain in raising it again to its
proper pilch, and be no less offensive to the hearers.
The medium between these two is a moderate and even
voice. But this is not the same in all ; , that which
is moderate in one would be high in another. Every
erson therefore must regulate it by the natural key of
is own veice. A calm and sedate voice is generally

best ;

I

16 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

best ; as a moderate sound is most pleasing to the ear,
if it be clear and distinct. But this equality of the
voice must also be accompanied with a variety : other-
wise there can be no hannony ; since all harmony con-
sists in variety.

Nothing is less pleasing than a discourse pronounced
thi'oughout in one continued tone of the voice, with-
out any alteration.. The equality, therefore, we are
here speaking of, admits a variety of inflections and
changes within the same pitch. And when that is
altered, the gradations, whedier higher or lower, should
be so gentle and regular as to preserve a due pro-
portion of the parts, and hannony of the whole ; which
carfnot be done, when the voice is suddenly varied with
;0 great a distinction. And therefore it should move
ironi one key to another, so as rather to glide like a
gentle stream, than pour down like a rapid torrent, as
an ingenious "writer has well expressed it.

But an affected variety, ill placed, is as disagreeable
to a judicious audience, as the want of it, where the
subject requires it. We may find some persons, in pro-
nouncing a grave and })lain discourse, affect as many
different tones, and variations of their voice, as if they
were acting a comedy ; which is doubtless a very great
impropriety. But the orator's province is not barely
to apply to the mind, but likewise to the passions ;
which require a great variety of the voice, high or
low, vehement or languid, according to the nature of
the passions he designs to affect. So that for an orator
always to use the same tone or degree of his voice, and
expect to answer all his views by it, would be much the
same thing as if a physician should propose to cure all
distempers by one medicine. And, as a perfect monoto-
ny is always unpleasant, so it can never be necessary
in any discourse.

That some sentences ought to be pronounced faster
than others is very manifest. Gay and sprighdy ideas
should not only be expressed louder, but also quicker
than such as are melancholy. A«ad when we press an

oponent,

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 17

opponent, the voice should be brisk. But to hurry or
in a precipitate manner without pausing, till stopped foi
want of breath, is certainly a very great fault. This
destroys not only the necessary distinction between sen-
tence and sentence, but likewise between the several
words of, the same sentence ; by which mean, all the
grace of speaking is lost, and in a great measure, the
advantage of hearing.

Young persons are very liable to this, especially at
first setting out. And it often arises from diffidence.
They are jealous of their performances, and the suc-
cess they may have in speaking, which gives them a
pain-till it is over; and this puts them into a hurry of
mind, which incapacitates them from governing their
voice, and keeping it under that due regulation which
perhaps they proposed to themselves before they began
to speak.

And as a precipitant and hasty pronunciation is cul-
pable, so likewise on the other hand, it is a fault to
speak too slow\ This seems to argue a heaviness in
the speaker. And as he appears cool himself, he can
never expect to warm his hearers, and excite their af-
fections. vYhen not only every wofd, but every sylla-
ble is draw^n out to too great a length, the ideas do
not come fast enough to keep up the attention without
much uneasiness. Now, to avoid either of the two
extremes last mentioned, the voice ought to be sedate
and distinct. And in order to render it distinct, it is
necessary, not only that each word and syllable should
have its just and full sound, both as to time and accent,
but likewise that every sentence, and part of a sentence,
should be separated by its proper pause.

This is more easy to be done in reading, from the
assistance of the points ; but it is no less to be attended
to in speaking, if w^e would pronounce in a distinct
and graceful manner. For every one should speak in
the same manner as he ought to read, if he could ar-
rive at that exactness. Now the common rule given in
pausing is, that we stop our voice at a comma till we
B 2 can

18 THE COLUAiBlAN ORATOR.

can tell one, at a semicolon two, at a colon three, aiid
at a full period four. And as these points are either
accommodated to the several parts of the same sen-
tence, as the first three; or different sentences, as the
last ; this occasions the different length of the pause,
by which either the dependence of what precedes upon
that which follows, or its distinction from it is repre-
sented.

It is not in our power to give ourselves w^hat qual-
ities of the voice we please ; but only to make the
best use we can of what nature has bestowed upon us.
However, several defects of the voice are capable of
being helped by care and proper means ; as, on the
other hand, the best voice may be greatly hurt by ill
management and indiscretion. Temperance is a great
preservative of the voice, and all excess is highly prej-
udicial to it. The voice must necessarily suffer, if the
organs of speech have not their proper tone. A strong
voice is very serviceable to an orator, because, if he
want some other advantages, he is, however, capable to
make himself heard. Ajid if at any time he is forced
to strain it, he is in less danger of its failing him before
he has finished his discourse.

But he, who has a weak voice, should be very care-
ful not to strain it, especially at first. He ought to be-
gin slow, and rise gradually to such a pitch as the key
of his voice will well carry him, without being obliged
to sink again afterwards. Frequent inflections of
the voice will likewise be some assistance to him. But
especially he should take care to speak deliberately,
and ease his vaice, by allowing due time for respira-
tion at all the proper pauses. It is an extreme much
less inconvenient for such a person rather to speak too
slow, than too fast. But this defeet of a weak voice is
Sometimes capable of being helped by the use of pro-
per methods ; as is evident from tlie instance of De-
mosthenes, before mentioned.

Some persons, cither from want of dwe care in their
■education at first, or from inadvertency and negligence

afterwards.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 10

afterwards, mn into a very irrcgukir and confused man-
ner of expressing their words; either by misplacing the
accent, confounding the sound of the letters, or hud-
dling the syllables one upon another, so as to render
what they say often unintelligible. Indeed, sometimes
this arises from a natural defect, as in the case of De-
mosthenes ; who found a method to rectify that, as well
as the weakness of his voice. But in faults of this
kind, which proceed from habit, doubtless the mo3t
likely way to mead them is tj speak deliberately.

OF GESTURE.

By" this is meant, a suitable conformity of the mo-
tions of the countenance, and several parts of the body
in speaking, to the subject matter of the discourse. It
is not agreed among the learned, whether voice or ges-
ture has the greater influence upon us. But as the
latter affects us by the eye as the former does by the
ear, gesture in the nature of it seems to have this ad-
vantage, that it conveys the impression more speedily
to the mind ; for the sight is the quickest of all our
senses. Nor is its influence less upon our passions ;
nay, in some instances, it appears to act more power-
fully. A cast of the eye will express desine in as
moving a manner as the softest language ; and adiffer-
ent motion of it, resentment.

To wring the hands, tear the hair, or strike the
breast, are all strong indications of sorrow.. And he,
who claps his hand to his sword, throws us into a
greater panic than one who only threatens to kill us.
Nor is it in some respects less various and extensive
language. Cicero tells us, he often diverted him|^if
by trying this with Roscius the comedian ; who could
express a sentence as many ways by his gestures, as he
himself covild by words. And some dramas, called pan-
tomimes, have been carried on wholly by mutes, who

have

20 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

have performed every part by gestures only, without
words, in a way very intelligible.

But with respect to oratory, gesture may very prop-
erly be called the second part of pronunciation ; in
which, as the voice should be suited to the impressions
it receives from the mind, so the several motions of the
body ought to be accommodated to the various tanes
and inflections of the voice. When the voice is even
and moderate, little gesture is required ; and nothing
is more unnatural than violent motion, in discoursing
upon ordinary and familiar subjects. The motions of
the body should rise therefore in proportion to the ve-
hemence and energy of the expression, as the natural
and genuine effect of it.

But as gesture is very different and various as to the
manner of it, which depends upon the decent conduct
of several parts of the body, it v/ill not be amiss to con-
sider more particularly the proper management of each
of those parts. Now all gesture is either natural, or
from imitation. By natural gesture, we mean such
actions and motions of the body, as naturally accom-
pany our words, as these do the impressions of our
mind. And these either respect the whole body, or
some particular part of it;

The speaker should not long continue standing in
the same position, like a statue, but be constantly
changing, though the motion be very moderate. There
ought to be no appeai^ance of stiffness, but a certain
case and pliableness, naturally suiting itself to every
expression ; by which means, when a greater degree
€>f motion is necessary, it will appear less sudden and
vehement : for as the raising, sinking, and various in-
flections of the voice must be gradual, so likewise
should the aiotions of the body. It is only on some
particular occasions that a hasty vehemence and impe-
tuosity is proper in either case.

As to the several parts of the body , the head is the most
considerable. To lift it up too high has the air of aiTO-
gance and pride ; to stretch it out too far, or throw it

kack.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 2i

back, looks clownish and unmannerly; to hang it down-
wards on the breast, shows an unmanly bashfulness and
want of spirit : and to suffer it to loan on either shoul-
der argues both sloth and indolence. Wherefore, in
calm and sedate discourse, it ought to keep its natural
state, and upright posture. However, it should not be
long without motion, nor yet always movmg; but
^enllv turn sometimes on one side, and sometimes on
The other, as occasion requires, that the voice may be
heard by all who are present; and then return again
to its natural position. It should always accompany
the othe^' actions of the body, and turn on the same
side with them ; except when aversion to any thing is
expressed ; which is done by stretching out the right-
hand, and turning the head to the left.

But it is the countenance, that chiefly insprescnts both
the passions and dispositions "of the mind. By this we
express love, hatred, joy, sorrow, modesty, and con-
fidence : by this we supplicate, threaten, soothe, invite,
forbid, consent, or refuse ; and all this without speaking.
Nay, from hence we form a judgment not only of a per-
son's present temper, but of his capacity and natural
disposition. And therefore it is common to say, such
a one has a " promising countenance,"^ or that " he
promises little by his countenance." It is true, this is
no certain rule of judging ; nor is it in the power of
any one to alter the natural make of his countenance. .
But the several parts of the face bear their part, and
contribute to the proper and decent motion of the
whole. In a calm and sedate discourse, all the features
retain their natural state and situation. In sorrow
the forehead and eyebrows lour, and the checks hang
down. But in expressions of joy and cheerfulness,
the foreheed and eyebrows are expanded, the checks
contracted, and the corners of the mouth drawn up-
wards. Anger and resentment contract the forehead,
draw the brows together, and thrust out the lips. And
terror elevates both the brows and forehead. As these

are.

22 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

are the natural signs of such passions, the orator should
endeavour to conform to thenr.-

But as the eyes are most active and significant, it is .
the advice of Cicer® that the greatest care should be
taken in their management. And he gives this reason
for it. " Because other parts of the countenance have
but few motions ; whereas all the passions of the soul
are expressed in the eyes, by &o many different actions; .
which cannot possibly be represented by any gestures
of the body, if the eyes are kept in a fixed posture."
Common experience does in a great measure confirm •
the truth of. this observation. We readily guess at a
person's intention, or how he is aifected to us by his
eyes. And any sudden change or emotion of the mind
is presently followed by an alteration in the look.

In speaking, therefore, upon pleasant and delightful
subjects, the eyes are brisk and cheerful; as, on the
contrary, they sink and are languid in delivering any-
thing melancholy and sorrowful. This is so agreeable
to nature, that before a person speaks, we are prepared
with the expectation of one or the other from his dif-
ferent aspect. So likewise in anger, a certain vehe-
mence and intenseness appears in the eyes, which, for
want of proper words to express it by, we endeavour^
to represent by metaphors taken from fire, the most "
violent and rapid element ; and say in such cases, the
eyes sparkle, burn, or are inflamed. In expressions
of hatred or detestation, it is natural to alter the looks,
either by turning the eyes aside, or downwards.

Indeed, the eyes are sometimes turned downwards
upon other occasions, as to express modesty. And if at
any time a particulai- object be addressed, whatever it .
be, the eyes should be turned that way. And there-
fore Pl.iilostratus very deservedly ridicules a certain
rhetorician as guilty of solecism in gesture, who, upon
saving, O Jupiter ! turned his eyes downwards ; and
when he said, O Earth ! looked upward. A staring
look lias the appearance of giddiness and want of
thought : and to contract the eyes gives suspicion of

craf*

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 23

craft and design. A fixed look may be occasioned
from intenseness of thought ; but at the same time shows
a disre^gard to the audience ; and a too quick and wan-
dering motion of the eyes denotes levity and wanton-
ness. A gentle and moderate motion of the eyes is,
therefore, in common, most suitable ; always directed
to some of the audience, and gradually turning from
side to side with an air of respect and modesty, and
looking them decently in the face, as in common dis-
course. Such a behaviour will of course draw at-
tention.

As to the other parts of the body distinct from the
head, the shoulders ought not to be elevated; for this
is not only in itself indecent ; but it likewise contracts
the neck, and hinders the proper motion of the head.
Nor, on the other hand, should they be drawn down
and depressed ; because this occasions a stiiihess both
to the neck and the whole body. Their natural pos-
ture therefore is best, as being most easy and grace-
ful. To shrug the shoulders has an abject and servile
air ; and fi-equently to heave them upwards and down-
wards is a very disagr(jeable sight. A continued mo-
tion of the arms any way, is by all means to be avoid-
ed. Their action should generally be very moderate,
and follow that of the hands ; unless in very pathetic
expressions, where it may be proper to give them .a
more lively spring.

Now, all bodily motion is either upward or down-
ward, to the right or left, forward or backward, or
else circular. I'he hands are employed by the orator
in all these except the last. And as they ought to cor-
respond with our expressions, so they ought to begin
and end with them. In admiration, and addresses to
Heaven, they must be elevated, but never raised above
the eyes; and in speaking of things below us, they are
directed downwaras. Side motion should generally be-
gin from the left, aiid terminate gently on the right.
In demonstrating, addressing, and on several other oc-
casions, they are moved forward ; and in threatening.,

sometimes

24 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

sometimes thrown back. But when the orator sp«alcs
©f himself, his right hand should be gently laid on
his breast.

The left hand should seldom move alone, but ac-
commodate itself to the motions of the right. In mo-
tions to the left side, the right hand should not be car-
ried beyond the left shoulder. In promises, and ex-
pressions of compliment, the motion of the hands
should be gentle and slow; but in exhortations and
applause, more swift. The hands should generally
be open ; but in expressions of compunction and an-
ger, they may be closed. All finical and trilling ac-
tions of the fingers ought to be avoided ; nor should
they be stretched out and expanded in a stiff and rigid
posture, but kept easy and pliable.

The gestures we have hitherto discoursed of, are
such as naturally accompany our expressions. And
we believe those we have mentioned, if duly attended
to, will be found sufficient to answer all the purposes
of our modern pronunciation. The other sort of
gestures above mentioned are such as arise from imita-
tion ; as where the orator describes some action, or
personates another speaking. But here great care is
to be taken not to overact his part by running into
any ludicrous or theatrical mimicry. It is sufficient
for him to represent things of this nature, as may
best convey the image of them in a lively manner to
the minds of the hearers ; without any such changes
either of his actions or voice as are not suitable to nis
own character.

Some PARTICULAR RULES tor the VOICE
AND GESTURE.

WE shall begin with the parts of a discourse, and
treat of them in their natural order. And here the
view and design of the speaker in eaoh of them will
easily help us to see the proper manner of pronuncia-

atiofl.

THE COLUMEJAN ORATOR. 25

aiioj. Let us suppose then a person presenting him-
selt' before an assembly, in order to make a discourse
to tliem. It cannot be decent immediately to begin to
speak so soon as ever he makes his appearance. He
will first settle himself, com.pose his countenance, and
take a respectful view of his audience. This prepares
them for silence and attention.

Persons commonly form some opinion of a speaker
from their first view of him, which prejudices them
either in his favour or otherwise, as to what he says
afterwards. A grave and sedate aspect inclines them
to think him serious ; that he had considered his sub-
ject, and may kave something to offer worth their at-
tention. A haughty and forbidding air occasions dis-
taste, as it looks lik€ disrespect. A wandering, giddy
countenance argues levity. A dejected drooping ap-
pearance is apt to raise contempt, unless where the
subject is melancholy. And a cheerful aspect is a pro-
per prelude to a pleasant and agreeable argument.

To speak low at first has the appearance of modesty,
and is best for the voice ; which, by rising gradually,
will with more ease be carried to any pitch that may
be afterwards necessary, without straining it. How-
ever, some variation of the voice is always proper to
give it harmony. Nay, and sometimes it is not im-
proper for an orator to set out with a considerable
deforce of warmth. We have some few instances of
this in Cicero ; as in his oration for Roscius Amerinus>
where the heinousness of the charge could not but ex-
cite his indignation against the accusers. And so like-
wise, in that against Piso^ and the two first against Ca-
tiline, which begin in the same manner, from the resent-
ment he had conceived against their persons and conduct.

In the narration, the voice ought to be raised to some-
what a higher pitch. Matters of fact should be related
in a very plain and distinct manner, with a proper stress
and emphasis laid upon each circumstance, accompanied
with a suitable address and motions of the body to en-
gage the attention of the hearers. For there is a certain

C grace

26 TFTE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

grace in telling a story, by which those who are masters
of it seldom fail to recommend themselves in conver-
sation.

The proposition, or subject of the discourse should
be delivered with a very clear and audible voice. For
if this be not plainly heard, all that follows in proof of
it cannot be well'understood. And for the same reason,
if it be divided into several parts or branches, they
should each be expressed very deliberately and dis-
tinctly. But as the design here is only information,
there can be little room for gesture.

The confirmation admits of great variety both of the
voice and gesture. In reasoning, the voice is quick
and pungent, and should be enforced with suitable ac-
tions. And as descriptions likewise have often a place
here, in painting out the images of things, the orator
should so endeavour to adapt both his voice, and the
motions of his body, particularly the turn of his eyes,
and action of his hands, as may best help the imagina-
tion of his hearers. Where he introduces another per-
son speaking, or addresses an absent person, it should
be with some degree of imitation. And in dialogue,
the voice should alter with the parts. When he di-
verts from his subject by any digression, his voice
should be lively and cheerful 5 since that is rather de-
signed for entertainment than instruction.

In confutation, the arguments of the adverse party
ought first to be repeated in a plain and distinct man-
ner, that the speaker may not seem to conceal, or avoid
the force of them. Unless they appear trifling and un-
worthy of a serious answer ; and then a facetious man-
ner, both of expression and gesture, may be the most
proper way to confute them. For, to attempt to an-
swer, in a grave and serious manner, what is in itself
empty and ludicrous, is apt to create a suspicion of its
having more in it than it really has.

But caution should be used not to represent any ar-
gument of weight in a ludicrous way, lest by so doing
♦be speaker shouki more expose himself than his adver-
sary.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 27

saiy. In the conclusion, both the voice and gesture
shouhl he brisk and sprightly ; which may seem to
arise from a sense of the speaker's opinion of the good-
ness of his cause, and that he has offered nothing but
what is agreeable to reason and truth ; as likewise from
his assurance that the audience agree with him in the
same sentiment. If an enumeration of the principal
arguments of the discourse be convenient, as it some-
times is, where they are pretty numerous, or the dis-
course is long, they ought to be expressed in the most
clear and forcible manner. And if there be an address
to the passions, both the voice and gesture must be
suited to the nature of them.

We proceed now to the consideration of particular
expressions. And what we shall offer here, w-iil be in
relation to the single words, sentences, and the pas-
sions. Even in those sentences which are expressed
in the most even and sedate manner, there is often one
or more words which require an emphasis and distinc-
tion of the voice. Pronouns are often of this kind : as^
this is the man. And such are many words that de-
note the circumstances and qualities of things. Such
as heighten or magnify the idea of the thing to w^hich
they are joined, elevate the voice ; as, noble, admira-
ble, majestic, greatly, and the like. On the contrary,
those which lessen the idea, or debase it, depress the
voice, or at least protract the tone : of which sort are
the words, little, mean, poorly, contemptible, with many
others.

Some tropes, likewise, asT^aphors and verbal fig-
ures, which censist in the repSition of a single word,
^ould have a particular emphasis. As when Virgil
says of the river Araxes, '* It disdained a bridge." And
Nisus of himself, in the same poet, " I, /am the man ;"
where the repeated word is loudest. This distinction
of words, and giving them their proper emphasis, does
not only render the expression more clear and intel-
ligible, but very much contributes to the variation of
the voice and the preventing of a monotony.

In

28 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

In sentences, regard should be had to their lengtli,
and the number of their parts, in order to distinguish
thera by proper pauses. The frame and structure of
the period ought likewise to be considered, that the
voice may be so managed as to give it the most music-
al accent. Unless there be some special reason for
the contrarj', it should end louder than it begins. And
this diifercnce of tone between the end of the former
sentence and the beginning of the next, not only hclp^
to distinguish the sense, but adds to the harmony of
tlie voice.

In an antithesis, or a sentenc-e consisting of opposite
parts, one contrary must be louder than the other.
As, " He is gone, but by a gainful remove, from^^m-
ful labour to qitict rest ; from unquiet desire to happy
eonientment ; from sorrow to joy ; and from transitory
time to immQHality,'^'^ In a, climax or gradation, the
voice should generally rise with it. Thus, *' There is
no enjoyment of property without government ; no gov-
ernment without a magistrate ; no magistrate without
obedience ; no obedience where every one acts as he
pleases." And so in other gradations of a different
form ; as, '' Since concord was lost, friendship was
lost, fidelity was lost, liberty/ was lost, all was lost."

That the passions have each of them both a differ-
ent voice and action, is evident from hence, that we
know in what manner a person is affected, by the tone
of his voice, though we do not understand the sense of
what he says, or many times so much as see him ; and
we can often make the same judgment from his coun-
tenance and gestm-es. Love and esteem are expressed
in a smooth and cheerful tone ; but anger and resent-
ment, with a rough, harsh, and interrupted voice r
for when the spirits are ruffled, the organs are moved
unequally. Joy raises and dilates the voice, as sor-
row sinks and contracts it. Cicero takes notice of a
passage in an oration of Gracchus, wherein he bewails
the death of his brother, who was killed by Scipio,
which in his time was thought very moving : " Unhap-
py

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 29

py man (says he,) whither shall I betake myself?'
Where shall I go ? Into the capitol ? that flows with
my brother's blood. Shall I go home, and behold my
mihappy mother all in tears and despair?"

Though Gracchus had a very ill design in that
speech, and his view was to excite the populace against
their governors, yet (as Cicero tells us) when he came
to this passage, he expressed himself in such moving
accents and gestures, that he extorted tears even from
his enemies. Fear occasions a tremor and hesitation
o£ the voice, and assurance gives it strength and firm-
ness. Admiration elevates the voice, and should be ex-
pressed with pomp and magnificence. " O surprising
clemency, worthy of the highest praise and greatest en-
comiums,and fit to be perpetuated in lasting monuments!'*
This is Cicero's compliment to Cesar, when he thought
it for his purpose. And oftentimes this passion is ac-
companied with an elevation both of the eyes and hands.
On the contrary, contempt sinks and protracts the voice.

All exclamations should be violent. When we ad-
dress inanimate things, the voice should be higher than
when animated beings ; and appeals to Heaven must
be made in a loftier tone than those to men. These
few hints for expressing the principal passions may, if
duly attended to, suffice to direct our practice in others.
Though, after all, it is impossible to gain a just and
decent pronunciation of voice and gesture merely from
rules, without practice and an imitation of the best
examples : which shows the wisdom of the ancients,
in training up their youth to it, by the assistance of
masters, to form both their speech and actions. But
here, as has been before observed, great caution should
be used in directing our choice of an example. An
affected imitation of others, in pronunciation or gesture,
especially of stage-players, whose pretensions to litera-
ture are seldom considerable, and who are generally
too fond of singularity, ought to be carefully avoided.
For nothing can appear more disgusting to persons of
discernment than affectation*

C % PRACTICAL

PRACTICAL PIECES for SPEAKING ;

CONSISTING OF

OPtATIONS, ADDRESSES, EXHORTATIONS
TROM THE PULPIT, PLEADINGS at the
BAR, SUBLIME DESCRIPTIONS, DEBATES,
DECLAMATIONS, GRAVE and HUMOR-
OUS DIALOGUES, POETRY, ^c. variouslv

IjSTERSPERSED.

Extract from an Oration on Eloquence,
pronounced at harvard university, on com-
MENCEMENT Day, 1784.

THE excellence, utility, and importance of Elo-
quence ; its origin, progress, and present state;
and its superior claim to the particular attention of
Columbia's free born sons, will exercise for a. few mo-
ments the patience of this learned, polite, and respected
assembly.

Speech and reason are the characteristics, the glory,
and the happiness of man. These are the pillars which
support the fair fabric of eloquence ; the foundation,
upon which is erected the most magnificent edifice, that
genius could design, or art construct. To cultivate elo-
quence, then, is. to improve the noblest faculties of our
natnre, the richest talents with which we are entrusted.
A more convincing proof of the dignity and importance
of our subject need not, cannot be advanced.

The benevolent design and the beneficial effects of
eloquence, evince its great superiority over every other
■Avt, which ever exercised the ingenuity of man. To
instruct, to persuade, to please; these are ite objects.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 3i

To scatter the clouds of ignorance and eiTor from the
atmosphere of reason ; to remove the film of prejudice
from the mental eye ; and thus to irradiate the be-
nighted mind with the cheering beams of truth, is at
once the business and the glory of eloquence.

To promote the innocent and rehned pleasures of the
fancy and intellect ; to strip the monster vice of all his
borrowed charms, and expose to view his native defor-
mity ; to display the resisdess attractions of virtue ;
and, in one word, to rouse to action all the latent ener-
gies of man, in the proper and ardent pursuit of the
great end of his existence, is the orator's pleasing, be-
nevolent, sublime employment.

Nor let it be objected, that eloquence sometimes im-
pedes the course of justice, and screens the guilty fi'om-
the punishment due to their crimes. Is there any
thing which is not obnoxious to abuse? Even the
benign religion of the Prince of Peace has been made
the unwilling instmment of the greatest calamities ever
experienced by man. The greater the benefits which
naturally result from any thing, the more pernicious arc
its effects, when diverted fi'om its proper course. This
objection to eloquence is therefore its highest eulogium.

The orator does not succeed, as some would insin-
uate, by dazzling the eye of reason with the illusive
glare of his rhetorical art, nor. by silencing her still
small voice in the thunder of his declamr..iion : for to
her impartial tribunal he refers the truth and propriety
of whatever he asserts or proposes. After fairly con-
vincing the understanding, he may, without the impu-
tation of disingenuousness, proceed to address tiie fancy
and the passions.. In this way he will more elTectually
transfuse into his hearers his own sentiments, and make
every spring in the human machine co-operate in the
production of the desired effect.

The astonishing powers of eloquence are well knovsrn,
at least to those who are conversant in ancient history.
Like a resistless torrent, it bears down every obstacle,
and turns even the current of opposing ignorance and

prejudice?

^2 THE Columbian orator.

prejudice into the desired channel of active and zealous
compliance. It is indisputably the most potent art with-
in the compass of human acquirement. An Alexander
and a Cesar could conquer a world ; but to overcome
the passions, to subdue the wills, and to command at
pleasure the inclinations of men, can be effected only
by the all-powerful charm of enrapturing eloquence.

Though it be more than probable, that oratory was
known and cultivated in some degree in ihose eastern
nations, where science first began to dawn upon the
world ; yet it was not till Greece became civilized and
formed into distinct governments, that it made its appear-
ance in its native, peerless majesty. Here we may fix the
era of eloquence ; here was its morn ; here its meridian
too; for here it shone with splendor never since surpassed.

It is a common and a just remark, that eloquence
can flourish only in the soil of liberty. Athens was a
republic, where the affairs of state were transacted in
the assembly of the whole people. This afforded to
eloquence a field too fertile to remain long uncultiva-
ted by the ingenious Athenians. Orators soon made
their appearance, who did honor to language, to
Greece, to humanity.

But though the names of many have been trans-
mitted to us, whose genius and eloquence demand our
veiteration and applause ; yet, like stars when the sun
appears, they are lost in the superior blaze of the in-
comparable Demosthenes. His story is well known ;
and his example affords the greatest encouragement to
students in eloquence ; as it proves, that, by art, almost
in defiance of nature, a man may attain such excellence
in oratory, as shall stamp his name with the seal of im-
mortality. Demosthenes and the liberty of Greece to-
gether expired ; and from this period we hear very
little more of Grecian eloquence.

Let us now direct our attention to that other gar-
den of eloquence, the Roman commonwealth. Here,
as in Greece, a free government opened the list to such
as v/ished to dispute the palm in oratory. Numbers

advance.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 33

advance, and contend manfully for the prize. Btit
their glor}' is soon to fade ; for Cicero appears ; Cicero,
another name for eloquence itself. Jt is needless to
enlarge on his character a« an orator. SutBce it to
say, that if we ransack the histories of the world to
find a rival for Demosthenes, Cicero alone can be
found capable of suppoiHing a claim to that distin-
guished honor.

And when did Greece or Rome present a fairei\
field for eloquence than that which now invites the
culture of the enlightened citizens of Columbia ? We
live in a republic, the orator's natal soil ; we enjoy as
much liberty, as is consistent widi the nature of man ;
we possess as a nation ail the advantages which climate,
soil, ai^d situation can bestow ; and nothi-ng but real
merit is here required as a qualification for the most
dignified offices of state. Never had eloquence more
ample scope.

And shall we rest satisfied with only admiring, or
*at most with following at an awful distance, the most
illustrious orators of Greece and Rome ? Shall every
•ther useful and ornamental art speed swifdy towards
perfection, while oratory, that most sublime of all arts ;
that art, which could render one man more dreadful
to a tyrant, than hostile fleets and armies, is almost
forgotten? It must not, cannot be. That refinement
of taste, that laudable ambition to excel in every thing
which does honor to humanity, which distinguishes
the Americans, and their free and popular government,
are so many springs, which, though not instantaneous
in their operation, cannot foil in time to raise Co-
lumbian eloquence " above all Greek, above all
Roman fame."

With pleasure we descry the dawning of that
bright day of eloquence, which we have anticipated.
The grand council of our nation has already evinced,
that in this respect, as in all others, our republic ac-
knowledges no existing supeH<n'. And we tnist, that,
as our sacred teachers make it their constant endeavour

to

L

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

to imitate the great learning, the exemplary virtue,
the exalted piety, and the extensive usefulness of the
great apostle of the Gentiles, they will not fail to re-
semble him in that commanding, that heavenly elo-
quence, which made aa avaricious, an unbelieving Fe-
lix, tremble.

May Columbia always afford more than one De-
mosthenes, to support the sacred cause of freedom,
and to thunder terror in the ears of every transat-
lantic Philip. May more than Ciceronean eloquence
be ever ready to plead for injured innocence, and
suifering virtue. Warned by the fate of her prede-
cessors, may she escape those quicksands of vice, which
have ever proved the bane of empires. May her glory
and her felicity increase with each revolving year,
till the last trump shall announce the catastrophe of
nature, and time shall immerge in the ocean of eternity.

Extract from President Washington's first
Speech in Congress, 1789.

Fellow-Citizens of the Senate,

AND OF the House of Representatives,

AMONG the vicissitudes incident to life, no event
could have filled me with greater anxieties thaa
that of which the notification was transmitted by your
order, and received on the 14th day of the present
month. On the one hand, I was summoned by my
country, whose voice I can never hear but with vene-
ration and love, from a retreat which I had chosen
with the fondest predilection, and, in my flattering
hopes, with an immutable decision, as the asylum of
my declining years. A retreat which was rendered
every day more necessary as well as more dear to me,
by the addition of habit to inclination, and of frequent
interruptions in my health to the gradual waste com-
mitted on it by time*

On

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 35

On the other hand, the magnitude and diflicuhy of
the trust, to which the voice of my country called me,
being sufficient to awaken in the wisest and most expe-
rienced of her citizens, a distrustful scrutiny into his
qualifications, could not but overwhelm with despon-
dence one, who, inheriting inferior endowments from
nature, and unpractised in the duties of civil adminis-
tration, ought to be peculiarly conscious of his own
deficiencies.

In this conflict of emotions, all I dare aver is, that it
has been my faithful study to collect my duty from a
just appreciation of every circumstance by which it
might be affected. All I dare hope is, that if, in exe-
cuting this task, I have been too much swayed by a
grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an af-
fectionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the
confidence of my fellow-citizens, and have thence too
little consulted my incapacity as well as disinclination
for the weighty and untried cares before me, my error
w^ill be palliated by the motives which misled me ; and
its consequences be judged by my couniry, with some
share of the partiality in which they orif^inated.

Such being the impressions under which I have, in
obedience to the public summon.'^^, repaired to the pres-
ent station, it would be peculiarly improper to omit in
this first official act, my fervent supplications to that
Almighty Being, who rules over the universe, who
presides in the councils of nations, and whose provi-
dential aids can supply evciy human defect, that his
benediction may consecrate to the liberties and happi-
ness of the people of the United States, a government
instituted by themselves for these essential purposes ;
and may enable every instrument employed in its ad-
ministration, to execute with success, the functions al-
lotted to his charge. In tendering this homage to the
great Author of every public and private good, 1 as-
sure myself that it expresses your sentiments not less
than my own ; nor those of my fellow-citizens at large,
less than either.*

No

36 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

No people can "be bound to ackiiowlcd2;e and adore
the invisible hand, which conducts the aitairs of men,
more than the people of the United States. Every
step, by which they have advanced to the character of.
an independent nation, seems to have been distinguish-
ed by some token of providential agency. And in the
important revolution just accomplished in the system
ef their united government, the tranquil deliberations
and voluntary consent of so many distinct communities,
from which the event has resulted, cannot be com-
pared with the means by which most governments
have been established, without some return of pious
gratitude, with a humble anticipation of the future
blessings which the past seem to presage. These re-
flections, arising out of the present crisis, have forced
themselves too strongly on my mind to be suppressed.
You will join with me, I trust, in thinking that there
are none,* under the influence of which, the proceed-
ings of a new and free government can more auspi-
ciously commence.

Speech of Paulus Emilius to the Roman People,
as he was about taking the command ot
THEIR Army.

YOU seem to me, Romans, to have expressed more
joy when Macedonia fell to my lot, than when
I was elected consul, or entered upon that office.
And to me your joy seemed to be occasioned by the
hopes you conceived, that I should put an end, worthy
of the grandeur and reputation of the Roman peo-
ple, to a jr^ar, which, in your opinion, has already
been of too long continuance. I have reason to beheve,
that the same gods, who have occasioned Macedonia
to fall to my lot, w^ill also assist me with their protec-
'tion in conducting and terminating this war success-
Y^lly. But of this, 1 may venture to assure you, that

I shall

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 37

1 shall do my utmost not to fall short of your expecta-
tions.

The senate has wisely regulated every thing neces-
sary in the expedition 1 am charged with ; and, as I
am'^ordered to set out immediately, I shall make no
delay ; and I know that my colleague Caius Licinius,
out of his great zeal for the public service, will raise
and march otf the troops appointed for me, with as
much ardor and expedition, as if they were for him-
self. I shall take care to trai.smit to you, as well as
to the senate, an exact account of all that passes; and
you may rely upon the certainty and truth of my let-
ters. But I beg of you, as a great favour, that you will
not give credit to, or lay any weight, out of credulity,
upon the light reports, which are frequently spread
abroad without any author.

I perceive well, that in this war, more than in any
other, whatever resolution people may form to obviate
these rumours, they will not fail to make impression,
and inspire I know^ not what discouragement. There
are those, who in company, and even at table, com-
mand armies, make dispositions, and prescribe all the
operations of the campaign. They know better than
we, where we should encamp, and what posts it is ne-
cessary for us to sieze ; at what time, and by what de-
file we ought to enter Macedonia ; where it is proper
to have magazines ; from whence, either by sea or
land, we are to bring provisions ; when we are tQ
fight the enemy, and when lie still.

They not only prescribe what is best to do ; but
for deviating ever so little from their plans, they make
it a crime in their consul, and cite him before their
tribunal. But know, Romans, this is of very bad ef-
fect with your generals. All have not the resolution
and constancy of Fabius, to despise impertinent reports.
He could choose rather to suffer the people, upon such
unhappy rumours, to invade his authority, than to ruin
affairs in order to preserve their opinion, and an empty
name.

D I am

38 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

I am far from believing, that generals stand in no
need of advice : I think, on the contrary, that who-
ever would conduct every thing alone, upon his own
opinion, and without counsel, shows more presumption
than prudence. But some may ask, How then shall
we act reasonably? I answer, ;by not sufiering any
persons to obtrude their advice upon your generals,
but such as are, in the first place, versed in the art of
war, and have learned from experience what it is to
command ; and in the second place, who are upon the
spot ; who know the enemy ; are witnesses in person
to all that passes ; and sharers with us in all dangers.

If there be any one, who conceives himself capable
of assisting me with his counsels in the war you have
charged me with, let him not refuse to do the republic
that service ; but let him go with me into Macedo-
nia. Ships, horses, tents, provisions., shall all be pro-
vided for him at my charge. But if he will not take
so much trouble, and prefers the tranquillity of the
city to the dangers and fatigues of the field, let him
not take upon him to hold the helm, and continue idle
in the port. The city of itself supplies sufficient mat-
ter of discourse on other subjects ; but as for these, let
it be silent upon them ; and know, that we shall pay no
regard to any counsels, but such as shall be given us in
the camp itself.

Exhortation on Temperance in
Pleasure.

LET me particularly exhort youth to temperance
in pleasure. Let me admonish them, to beware
of that rock on which thousands, from race to race,
continue to split. The love of pleasure, natural to
man in every period of his life, glows at this age
v/ith excGosive ardor. Novelty adds fresh charms, as
yet, to every gratification. The v.orld appears to

spread

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 39

spread a continual feast ; and health, vigor, and high
spirits, invite them to partake of it without restraint.
In vain we warn them oi" latent dangers. Religion is
accused of insufferable severity, in prohibiting enjoy-
ment : and the old, when they offer their admonitions,
are upbraided with having forgotten that they once
were young.

And yet, my friends, to what do the restraints of
religion, and the counsels of age, with respect to
pleasure, amount ? They may all be comprised in few
words, not to hurt yourselves, and not to hurt others,
by your pursuit of pleasure. Within these bounds,
pleasure is lawful ; beyond them, it becomes criminaK
because it is ruinous. Are these restraints any other,
than what a wise man would choose to impose on
himself? We call you not to renounce pleasure, but
to enjoy it in safety. Instead of abridging it, we ex-
hort you to pili'sue it on an extensive plan. We pro-
pose measures for securing its possession, and for pro-
longing its duration.

Consult your whole nature. Consider yourselves
not only as sensitive, but as rational beings ; not only
as rational, but social ; not only as social, but imn\ortal.
Whatever violates your nature, in any of these re-
spects, cannot afford true pleasure; anymore than
.that which undermines an essential part of the vital
system can promote health. For the truth of this con-
clusion, we appeal, not merely to th- authority of re-
ligion, nor to the testimony of the aged, but to your-
selves and your own experience. We ask, whether
you have not found, that in a course of criminal excess,
your pleasure was more than compensated by succeed-
ing pain ? AYhether, if not from every particular in-
stance, yet from every habit, at least, of unlawi'id
gratification, there did not spring some thorn to wound
you ; there did not arise some consequence to make
you repent of it in the issue ?

" How long then, ye simple ones! will ye love sim-
plicity ?" How long repeat the same round of perni-
cious

40 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

cious folly, and tamely expose yourselves to be caught
in the same snare ? if you have any consideration, cr
any firmness left,, avoid temptations, for which you
have found yourselves unequal, with as much care as
you would shun pestilential infection. Break off all
connexions with the loose and profligate. " When
sinners entice thee, consent thou not. Look not on
the wine when it is red, when it giveth its colour in the
cup ; for at the last, it biteth like a serpent, and sting-
eth like an adder. Remove thy vv-ay from the strange
vvoman, and come not near the door of her house.
Let not thine heart decline to her ways ; for her house
is the way to helL Thou goest after her as a bird has-
i^?rieth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for

By these unhappy excesses of irregular pleasure in
youth, how many amiable dispositions are corrupted
or destroyed ! How many rising capacities and powers
are suppressed ! How many flattering hopes of parents
and friends are totally extinguished ! Who but must
drop a tear over human nature, when he beholds that
morning which arose so bright, overcast with such
untii?iely darkness ; that good humour which once capti-
vated all hearts ; that vivacity which sparkled in every
company ; those abilities which were fitted for adorn-
ing the highest station, all sacrificed at the shrine of
low sensuality; and one, who was formed for running
the fair career of life in the midst of public esteem, cut
off by his vices at the beginning of his course, or sunk,
for the whole of it, into insignificancy and contempt !
These, O sinful pleasure ! are thy trophies. It is thus,
that, co-operating with the foe of God and man, thou
degradest human nature, and blastest the opening pros-
]>ects of human felicity.

Judah's

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 41

Judah's Plea for his Brother Benjamin, before
Joseph in Egypt.

WHEN we appeared before you, Sir, the first
time, we answered without reserve, and ac-
cording to the strictest truth, all the questions which
you were pleased to put to us concerning our family.
We acquainted you, that we had a father, heavily la-
den with years, but still more heavily with misfortunes ;
a father, whose whole life had been one continued strug-
gle with adversity. We added that we had a brother pe-
culiarly dear to him, as the children born towards the
end of their life generally are to old men, and who is
the only one remaining of his mother ; his brother hav-
ing con\e in early youth to a most tragical end.

You commanded us, as the proof of our veracity and
innocence, to bring that brother unto you \ and your
command w^s delivered with such threatenings, that
the terror of them accompanied us all the way back to
our country, and imbittered the remainder of our jour-
ney. We reported ^very thing minutely to our father,
as you directed us. Resolutely and long, he refused
to intrust us with the care of that child. Love suggested
a thousand causes of apprehension upon his account.
He loaded us with the bitterest reproaches for having
declared that we had another brother.

Subdued by the famine, he at length reluctantly con-
sented ; and putting his beloved son, this unhappy
youth, into our hands, conjured us by every dear,
every avv'ful name, to guard with tenderness his pre-
cious life ; and as we would not see him expire before
our eyes in anguish and despair, to bring him back in
safety. He parted with him as with a limb torn from
his own body ; and in an agony of grief inexpressible,
deplored the dreadful necessity which separated him
from a son, on whom all the happiness of bis life de-
pended.

How
D2

42 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR,

How then can we appear before a father of sue
delicate sensibility ? With what eyes shall we dan
to look upon him, unless we carry back with us this
son of his right hand, this staff of his old age, whom
alas ! you have condemned to slavery ? I'he good ok
man will expire in horrors dreadful to nature, as soor
as he shall find that his son is not with us. Our enC'
mies will insult over us under these misfortunes, an(
treat us as the most infamous of parricides.

I must appear to the world, and to myself, as th
perpetrator of that most horrid of crimes, the murder
of a father ; for it was I who most urgently pressed my
father to yield, I engaged by the most solem.n pro-1
mises, and the most sacred pledges, to bring the child
back. Me he intrusted with the sacred deposit, and
of my hand he will require it. Have pity, I beseech
you, on the deplorable condition of an old man, strip-
ped of his last comfort ; and whose misery will be ag-
gravated by reflecting that he foresaw its approach,
and yet wanted resolution to prevent it.

If your just indignation must needs have a sacrifice,
here 1 am ready, at the price of my liberty or of my
life, to expiate this young man's guilt, and to purchase
his release ! Grant this request, not so much for the
sake of the youth himxself, as of his absent father, who
never offended you, but who venerates your person
and esteems your virtues.

Suffer us not to plead in vain for a shelter under your
right hand, to which we flee, as to an holy altar, con-
secrated as a refuge to the miserable. Pity an old man,
v/ho, during the whole course of a long life, has culti-
vated arts becoming a man of wisdom and probity, ami
who, on account of his amiable qualities, is almos'
adored by the inhabitants of Syria and Canaan, though
he j>fofesscs a religion, and follows a mode of living

totally different from theirs.

Extract

THE COLUMBIAN ORATORc

Extract from the Plea of Thomas Muir, Esq,

AT HIS CELEBRATED TrIAL IN SCOTLAND.

Gentlemen of the Jurv,

THIS is now perhaps the last time that I shall ad-
dress my country. I have explored the tenor of
my past life. Nothing shall tear from me thf record
of my departed days. The enemies of reform have
scrutinized, in a manner hitherto unexampled in Scot-
land, every action I may have performed, every word
I may have uttered. Of crimes, most foul and horri-
ble, have I been accused : of attempting to rear the
standard of civil war; to plunge this land in blood, and
to cover it with desolation. At every step, as the evi-
dence of the crown advanced, my innocency has bright-
ened. So far from inflaming the minds of men to se-
dition and outrage, all the witnesses have concurred,
that my only anxiety was, to impress upon them the
necessity of peace, of good order, and of good morals.

What then has been my crime ? Not the lending to
a relation a copy of Mr. Paine's Works 5 not the giving
away to another a few numbers of an innocent and
constitutional publication ; but for having dared to be,
according to the measure of my feeble abilities, a stren-
uous and active advocate for an equal representation of
the PEOPLE, in the HOUSE OF THE PEOPLE;
tor having daied to attempt to accomplish a measure, by
legal means, which was to diminish the weight of their
taxes, and to put an end to the e^Tusion of their blood.

From my infancy to this moment, I have devoted
myself to the cause of the PEOPLE. It is a good
cause. It will ultimately prevail. It will finally tri-
umph. Say then openly, in your verdict, if you do con-
demn me, which I presume you will not, that it is for my
attachment to this cause alone, and not for those vain and
wretched pretexts stated in the indictment, intended on-
ly to colour and disguise the real motives of my accusa-
tion.

44 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

tioR. The time will come, when men must stand or fall
by their actions ; when all human pageantry shall cease ;
when the hearts of all shall be laid open to view.

If you regard your most important interests ; if you
wish that your consciences should whisper to you
w^ords of consolation, rather than speak to you in the
terrible language of remorse, weigh well the verdict
you are to pronounce.

As for me, I am careless and indifferent to my fate.
I can look danger, and I can look death in the face ;
for I am shielded by the consciousness of my own recti-
tude. I may be condemned to languish in the recesses
of a dungeon. I may be doomed to ascend the scaf-
fold. Nothing can deprive me of the recollection of
the past ; nothing can destroy my inward peace of
mind, arising from the remembrance of having dis-
charged my duty.

On the starry Heavens.

TO us who dwell on its surface, the earth is by
far the most extensive orb that our eyes can any
where behold. It is also clothed with verdure ; dis-
tinguished by trees; and adorned v/ith a variety of
beautiful decorations. Whereas, to a spectator placed
on one of the planets, it wears a uniform aspect ; looks
all luminous, and no<. larger than a spot. To beings
who dwell at still greater distances, it entirely dis-
appears.

That which we call, alternately, the morning and
evening star ; as in one part of her orbit, she rides
foremost in the procession of night ; in the other, ush-
ers in, and anticipates the dawn, is a planetary world;
which, v/ith the five others, that so v/onderfully vary
their mystic dance, are in themselves dark bodies, and
shine only by reflection ; have fields, and seas, and skies
of their own ; are furnished with all accommodations

for

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 40

for animal subsistence, and arc supposed to be abodes
of iiitcllectual life. All which, together with this our
earthly habitation, arc dependant on that grand dis-
penser of divine munificence, the sun ; receive their
light from the distribution of his ra} s : derive their
comfort from his divine agency.

The sun is the great axle of heaven, about which,
the globe v.e inhabit, and other more spacious orbs,
wheel their stated courses. The sun, though seem-
ingly smaller than the dial it illuminates, is abundant-
ly larger than this v.hole earth ; on which so manyjlofty
mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll. A line, ex-
tending through the centre of that resplendent orb^
would measure more than eight hundred thousand
miles. A girdle, formed to suri'ound it, w^ould require
a length of millions. Were its solid contents to be es-
timated, the account would overpower our understand-
ing, and be almost beyond the power of language to
express.

Are we startled at these reports of astronomy ? Arc
we ready to cry out in a transport of surprise, How-
mighty is the Being, who kindled such a prodigious
fire, and who keeps alive, from age to age, such an
enormous mass of flame ! Let us attend our philosophic
guides, and we shall be brought acquainted with spec-
ulations more enlarged, and more am.azing.

This sun, with all attendant planets, is but a very
little part of the grand machine of the universe. Every
star, though in appearance no bigger than the dia-
mond that glitters on a lady's ring, is really a mighty
globe ; like the sun in size, and in glory; no less spa-
cious ; no less luminous than the radiant source of our
day. So that every star is not barely a world, but the
centre of a magnificent system ; has a retinue of worlds,
irradiated by its beams, and revolving round its attrac-
tive induence. All which are lost to our sight in un-
measurable wilds of ether.

That the stars appear like so many diminutive, and
scarcely distinguishable points, is owing to their im-
mense

46 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

mense and inconceivable distance. Such a distance,
that a cannon ball, could it continue its impetuous flight,
with unaboting rapidity, would not reach the nearest
of those twinkling luminaries for more than five hun-
dred thousand years !

Can any thing be more wonderful than these obser-
vations ? Yes ; there are truths far more stupendous ;
there are scenes far more extensive. As there is no
end of the Almighty Maker's greatness, so no imagina-
tion can set limits to his creating hand. Could you
soar beyond the moon, and pass through all the planeta-
ry choir; could you wing your way to the highest appar-
ent star, and take your stand on one of those lofty pin-
nacles of heaven, you would there see other skies ex-
panded; another sun, distributing his inexhaustible
beams by day ; other stars which gild the horrors of
the alternate night ; and other, perhaps, nobler systems,
established in unknown profusion, through the bound-
less dimensions of space. Nor do the dominions of the
universal Sovereign terminate there. Even at the end
of this vast tour, you would find yourself advanced no
further than the suburbs of creation ; arrived only att
the frontiers of the great JEHOVAH's kingdom.

Paper, a Poem.

SOME wit of old ; such wits of old there were,
Whose hints show'd meaning, whose allusions, care,
By one brave stroke, to mark all human kind,
CalPd clear blank paper every infant mind ;
When still, as opening sense her dictates wrote,
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot.

The thought was happy, pertinent, and true,
Me thinks a genius might the plan pursue.
I, (can you pardon my presumption ?) I,
No wit, no genius, yet for once will try.

Various

I

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 47

Various the papers, various wants produce,
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use.
Men are as various : and, if right I scan,
Each sort oi paper represents some man.

Pray note the fop ; half powder and half lace ;
Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling-piace ;
lie's the gilt paper, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire.

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth,
Are copy paper of inferior worth ;
Less priz'd, more useful, for your desk decreed.
Free to all pens, and prompt at ev'ry need.

The wretch, whom av'rice bids to pinch and spare,
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir,
Is coarse brown paper, such as pedlars choose
To wrap up wares, which better men will use.

Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys
Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys. ^

Will any paper match him ? Yes, throughout.
He's a true sinking paper, past all doubt.

The retail politician's anxious thought
Deems this side always right, and that stark naught;
He foams with censure ; with applause he raves,
A dupe to rumours, and a tool of knaves :
He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim,
While such a thing diS fools-cap has a name.

The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high,
Who picks a quarrel if you step awry.
Who can't a jest, or hint, or look endure :
What's he ? What ? Touch-paper to be sure.

What are our poets, take them as they fall,
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all?
Them and thf ir works in the same class you'll find ;
They are the mere waste-paper of mankind.

JjL Observe

48 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Observe the maiden, innocently sweet,
She's fair white paper, an unsullied sheet ;
On which the happy man, whom fate ordains,
May write his name, and take, her for his pains.

's ">

One instance more, and only one Pll brinj
'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing ;
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his own.
Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone :
True genuine royal paper is his breast ;
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.

Extract from Cato's Speech before the Ro-
man Senate, after the Conspiracy of Cati-
line.

J' HAVE often spoken before you. Fathers, with
* some extent, to qomplain of luxury and the greedi-
ness for money, the twin vices of our corrupt citizens ;
and have thereby drawn upon myself abundance
of enemies. As I never spared any fault in myself,
I was not easily inclined to favour the criminal ex-
cesses of others.

But though you paid little regard to my remon-
strances, the Commonwealth has still subsisted by its
own strength ; has borne itself up, notwithstanding
5'our neglect. It is not now the same. Our manners,
good or bad, are not the question, nor to preserve the
greatness and lustre of the Roman empire : but to
resolve whether all we possess and govern, well or ill,
shall continue our's, or be transferred with ourselves
to enemies.

At such a time, in such a state, some talk to us of
lenity and compassion. It is long that we have lost
the right names of things. The Common w^en 1th is in
this deplorable situation, only because we call bestow-
ing

^

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 49

ing other people's estates, liberality, and audaciousness
in perpetrating crimes, courage.

Let such men, since they will have it so, and it is
become the established mode, value themselves upon
their liberality at the expense of the allies of the em-
pire, and of their lenity to the robbci-s of the public
treasury : but let them not make a largess of our blood ;
and, to spare a small number of vile wrctclies, expose all
good men to destruction.

Do not imagine, Fathers, that it was by arms our
ancestors rendered this Commonwealth so great, from
so small a beginning. If it had been so, we should
now see it much more flourishing, as we have more al-
lies and citizens, more horse and foot, than they had.
But they had other things, that made them great, of
which no traces remain amongst us : at home, labor
and industry ; abroad, just and equitable government ;
a constancy of soul, and an innocence of manners,
that kept them perfectly free in their councils ; unre-
-strained either by tke remembrance of past crimes, or
by craving appetites to satisfy.

For these virtues, we have luxury and avarice ; or
madness to squander, joined with no less, to gain ;
the State is poor, and private men are rich. We ad-
mire nothing but riches ; we give ourselves up to sloth
and effeminacy ; we make no distinction between the
good and the bad ; whilst ambition engrosses all the re-
wards of virtue. Do you wonder, then, that danger-
ous conspiracies should be formed ? Whilst you regard
nothing but your private interest ; whilst voluptuous-
ness solely employs you at home, and avidity or favor
governs you here, the Commonwealth, without defence,
is exposed to the devices of any one who thinks fit to
attack it.

DiALOGIfE

E

A

50 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Dialogue between the Ghosts of an English
Duellist, a North-American Savage, and Mer-
cury.

r> 7/- . TV /TERCURY, Charon's boat is on the

Duellist. JYI ^^j^^^, gjj^ ^^ ^j^^ ^^^^^^,^ ^jl^^^

me, before it returns, to have some conversation
with the North- American Savage, whom you brought
hither with me. I never before saw one of that spe-
cies. He looks very grim. Pray, Sir, w'hat is your
name ? I understand you speak English.

Savage, Yes, I learned it in my childhood, having
been bred for some years among the English of New-
Y^ork. But, before I was a man, I returned to my val-
iant countrymen, the Mohawks ; and having been vil-
ianously cheated by one of your's in the sale of some
rum, 1 never cared to have any thing to do with them
afterwards. Yet I took up the hatchet for them with
the rest of my tribe in the late war against France, and
was killed v/hile I was out upon a scalping party. But
I died very well satisfied : for my brethren were vic-
torious ; and, before I was shot, 1 had gloriously scalp-
ed seven men, and five women and children. In a
former war, I had performed still greater exploits. My
name is the Bloody Bear : it was given me to express
my fierceness and valour.

DueL Bloody Bear, I respect you, and am much
your humble servant. My name is Tom Pushwell,
very well known at Arthtu-'s. 1 am a gentleman by my
birth, and by profession a gamester and a man of hon-
or, i have killed men in fair fighting, in honorable
single combat ; but don't understand cutting the
throats of women and children. ^

Sav. Sir, that is our way of making war. Every na-
tion has its customs. But by the grimness of your coun-
tenance,, and that hole in your breast, I presume you

were

A

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 51

were killed as I was, in some scalping party. How hap-
pened it that your enemy did not take off your scalp ?

Duel. Sir, I was killed in a duel. A friend of mine
had lent me a sum of money ; and after two or three
years, being in great want himself, he asked me to
pay him. I thought his demand, which was somewhat
peremptory, an aflront to my honor, and sent him a
challenge. We met in Hyde Park. The fellow could
not fence : but i was absolutely the adroitest swords-
man in England. So I gave him three or four wo]^nds ;
but at last he ran upon me with such impetuosity, that
he put me out of my play, and J could not prevent him
from vvhipping me through the lungs. I died the next
day, as a man of honor should ; vv'ithout any snivelling
signs of contrition or repentance : and he\viil follow
me soon ; for his surgeon has declared his wounds to
be mortal. It is said that his wife is dead of grief, and
that his family of seven children will be undone by his
deaths So I am well revenged, and that is a comfort.
For my part, I had no wife. I always hated marriage :
my mistress will take good care of herself, and my chil-
dren are provided for at the foundling hospital.

Sav. Mercury, I won't go in the boat with that
fellow. He has murdered his countryman ; he has
murdered his friend : I say positively, I won't go in
the boat with that fellow. I will swim over the river :
I can swim like a duck.

; Mer, Swim over the Styx! it must not be done :
It is against the laws of Pluto's empire. You must go
m the boat and be quiet.

Sav, Don't tell mc of lav/s : I am a savage : I value
no laws. 7'alk of laws to the Englishman: there
are laws in his country ; and yet you see he did not
regard them. For they could never allow him to kill
his fellow-subject, in time of peace, because he ask-
ed him to pay an honest debt. I know, indeed, that
the English are a barbarous nation : but they can't
possibly be so brutal as to make such things laAvful.

Mer.

62 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Mer, You reason well agamst him. But how cemcs
it that you are so offended with murder; you, who
have frequently massacred wouien in their sleep, and
thildren in the eradk ?

Sav. 1 killfed none but my enemies : I never kiHed
my own countrymen : I never killed my friend.
Here, take my blanket, and let it come over in the
boat ; but see that the murderer does not sit upon it,
or touch it. If he does, 1 will burn it instantly in the
fire I see yonder. Farewell. I am determined to Swim
over the water.

JUer, By this touch of my wand, I deprive thee of
ail thy strength. Swim now if thou canst.

Sav. This is a potent enchanter. Restore me my
strength, and I promise to obey thee.

Mer. I restore ^t ; but be orderly, and do. as 1 bid
vou ; otherv/ise worse will befal you.
'• DueL Mercury, leave him to me. I'll tutor him
for you. Sirrah Savage, dost thou pTCtend to be asha-
med of my company ? Dost thou not know that I have
kept the best company in England ?

Sav, I know thou art a scoundrel. Not pay thy
debts ! kill thy friend who lent thee money for asking
thee for it ! Get out of my sight. I will drive thee
into the Styx. .

Mer. Stop. I command thee. No violence, lalk^

to him calmly. ^ ,

Sav. I must obey thee. Well, Sir, let me know
what merit you had to introduce you into good com-
pany ? What could you do ?

' Duel. Sir, I gamed, as t told you. Besides, 1 kept
a good table. I eat as well as any man either in En-
, dand or France. r -r. u

Sav. Eat ! did vou ever eat the liver of a French-
man, qr his leg, or his shoulder? There is fine eatmg
for you! I have eat twenty. My table was always
well served. My wife was esteemed the best cook for
the dressing of man's flesh in all North- America. You
will not pretend to compare your eating with mine ?

H DueL

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 53

DiieL I danced very finely.

Sav. I'll dance with thee tor thy cars^. I can dance
all* day long. I can dance the war dance with more-
spirit than any man of my nation. Let us see thee
begin it. How thou stande^t like a post ! Has Mercury
struck thee with his enfeebling rod ? Or art thou asha-
med to let us see how awkward thou art ? If he
would permit me, I would teach thee to dance in a
way that thou hast never yet learned. But what else
canst thou do, thou bragging rascal ?

DueL O misery! must I'bcar all this! What can
I do with this fellow ? I have neither sword nor pis-
tol ; and his shade seems to be twice as strong as mine.

Mer, You must answer his questions. It was your
own desire to have a conversation with him. He is
not well bred ; but he will tell you some truths which
you must necessarily hear, when you come before Rha-
damanthus. He asked you v/hat you could do beside
eating and dancing.

Duel, I sung very agreeably.

Sav, Let me hear you sing your death song; or the
war \vhoop. I challenge you to sing. Come, begin.
The fellow is mute. Mercury, this is a liar. He
has told us nothing- but lies. Let me pull out his
tongue.

Dud, The lie given me ! and alas ! I dare not re-
sent" it ! What an indelible disgrace to the family of the
Pushwells ! This is indeed tormenting.

Mer, Here, Charon, take these two savages to your
care. How far the barbarism of the Mohawk will ex-
cuse his horrid acts, I leave Minos to judge. But what
can be said for the Englishman ? Can we plead the
custom cf Duelling ? A bad excuse at the best ! but
h^re it cannot avail. The spirit that urged him to draw
his sword against his friend is not that of honor ; it is
the spirit of the furies ; and to them he must go.

Sav, If he is to be punished for his wickedness, turn
hjm over to me. I perfectly understand the art of tor-
menting. Sirrah, I begin my wwk with this box on
E 2 youp '

54 THE COLUMBIA^; ORATOR.

your ears, and will soon teach you better manners than
you have yet learned.

Duel, Oh my honor, my honor, to what infamy art
thou fallen \

Speech of an Indian Chief, of the Stockbridge
Tribe, to the Massachusetts Congress, in the
Year 1775.

Brothers \

YOU remember, when you first came over the
great waters, I was great and you were little ;
very small. I then took you in for a friend, and kept
you under my arms, so that no one might injure you.
Since that time we have ever been true friends : there
has never been any quarrel between us. But now our
conditions are changed. You are become great and
tall. You reach to the clouds. You are seen all
round the world. I am become small ; very little.
I am not so high as your knee. Now you take care of
me ; and I look to you for protection.

Brothers ! I am sorry to hear of this great quar-
rel between you and Old England. It appears that
blood must soon be shed to end this quarrel. We never
till this day understood the foundation of this quarrel
between you and the country you came from. Brot}i-
ers! Whenever I see your blood running, you will
soon find me about you to revenge my brothers' blood.
Although I am low and very small, I will gripe hold of
your enemy's heel, that he cannot run so fast, and so
light, as if he had nothing at his heels.

Brothers ! You know I am not so wise as you are,
therefore I ask your advice in what I am now going to
say. I have been thinking, before you come to action,
to take a run to the westward, and feel the mind of
my Indian brethren, the Six Nations, and know how.
'hey stand; whether they are on your side, or foj'

- • YOU

I

\

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 55

your enemies. If I find they are against vou, I will
try to turn their minds. I think they will listen to
me -, for they have always looked this way for advice,
concerning all important news that comes from the
rising sun. If they hearken to me, you will not be
afraid of any danger from behind you. However their
minds are affected, you shall soon know by me. Now
I think I can do you more service in this way than by
marching off imm'ediately to Boston, and staying there.
It may be a great while before blood runs. Now, as
I said, you are wiser than I, I leave this for your con-
sideration, whether I come down immediately, or wait
till I hear some blood is spilkd.

Brothers ! I would not have you think by this, that
we are falling back from our engagements. We are
* ready to do any thing for your relief, and shall be gui-
ded by your counsel.

Brothers! one diing I ask of you, if you send for
ine to fight, that you will let me fight in my own Indian
way. I am not used to fight English fashion ; there-
fore you must not expect 1 can train like your men.
Only point out to me where your enemies keep, and
that is all 1 shall want to know.

On the Creation of the Wori^d.

^¥10 the ancient philosophers, creation from nothing-
X appeared an unintelligible idea. They niain-
tained the eternal existence of matter, which they
supposed to be modelled by the sovereign mind of the
universe, into the form which the earth now exhibits.
But there is nothing in this opinion which gives it any
title to be opposed to the authority of revelation. The
doctrine of two self-existent, independent principles,
God and matter, the one active, the other passive, is a
hypothesis which presents ditficulties to human reason,
at least as great as the creation of matter from nothing.
. Adhering thea to the testimony of scripture, we believe,

that

Jo THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

that " in the beginning, God created," or from non-ex-
istence brought into being, " the heavens and the earth/''

But though there was, a period when this globe,
with all that we see upon it, did not exist, we have no
reason to think, that the wisdom and power of the
Almighty were then without exercise or employment.
Boundless is the extent of bis dominion. Other globes
and worlds, enlightened by other suns, may then have
occupied, they still appear to occupy, the immense
regions of.space. Numberless orders of beings, to us
unknown, pebple the wide extent of the universe, and
afford an endless variety of objects to the ruling care
of[ the i^reat Father of all. At length, in the cqjirse
and progress of his government, there arrived a period,
when this earth was to be ca"ed into existence. When
the signal moment predestinated from all eternity, was
come, the Dciry arose in his might, and with a word
created the world.

What an illustrious moment was that, when, from
non-existence, there sprang at once into being this
mighty globe, on which so many millions of creatures
now dwell ! No preparatory measures were required.
No long circuit of means was employed. *' He spake ;
and it was done : He commanded, and it stood iast."
The earth was, at first, " wiihout form, and void ; and
darkness Vv^as upon the face of the deep." The Almighty '
surveyed the dark abyss ; and fixed bounds to the sev-
eral divisions of nature. He said, " Let there be light,
and there was light."

Tlitn appeared the sea, and the dry land. The
mountains rose ; and the rivers flowed. The sun and
rnoon began their course in the, skies. Herbs and plants
clothed the ground. The air, the earth, and the wa-
ters were stored v/ith their respective inhabitants. At
last, man was made after the image of God. He ap-
peared, walking with countenance erect; and received
his Creator's benediction, as the lord of this new
world. The Almighty beheld his work when it was
firushed, and pronounced it good. Superior beings saw

with'

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 57

with wondtT this new accession to existence. *' The
morning stars sang together ; and all the sons of God
sliouted for joy.'*

But, on thii, great work of creation, let us not mere-
ly gaze with astonishment. Let us consider how it
should affect our conduct, by presenting the divine per-
fections in a light which is at once edifying and com-
forting to man. It displays the Creator as supreme in
power, in wisdom, and in goodness. Let us look around,
and survey thU stupendous edifice: which we have been
admitted to inhabit. L^t us think of the extent of the
different climates and regions of the earth ; of the mag-
nitude of the mount?. ins, and ©f the expanse cf the
ocean. Let us conceive that immense globe which con-
tains them, launched at once from the hand of the Al-
mighty ; made to revolve incessantly on its axis, that it
might produce the vicissitudes of day and night; thrown
forth, at the same time, to run its annual course in per-
petual circuit through the heavens.

After such a meditation, where is the greatness,
where is the pride of man ? Into what total annihila-
tion do we sink, before an omnipotent Being f Rever-
ence, and humble adoration ought spontaneously to
arise. He, who feels no propensity to worship and
adore, is dead to all sense of grandeur and majesty ;
has extinguished one of the most natural feelings of the
human heart.

Lines spoken at a School-Exhibition, by a lit-
tle Boy SEVEN Years old.

YOU'D scarce expect one of my age,
To speak in public, on the stage ;
And if I chance to fall below
Demosthenes or Cicero,
Don't view me with a critic's eye,
B*v*t pass my imperfectioius by.

Larg^:

58 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Large streams from little fountains flow ;

Tall oaks from little acorns grow :

And though I now am small and young,

Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue ;

Yet all great learned men, like me,

Once learn'd to read their A, B, C.

But why may not Columbia's soil

Rear men as great as Britain's isle ;

Exceed what Greece and Rome have done,

Or any land beneath the sun ?

Mayn't Massachusetts boast as great

As any other sister state ? -

Or, Where's the town, go far and near,

That does not iind a rival here ?

Or Where's the boy, but three feet high.

Who's made improvements more than I ?

These thoughts inspire my youthful mind

To be the greatest of mankind ;

Great, not like Cesar, stain'd with blood j ^

But only great, as I am good.

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech m the British

Parliament, in the Year 1766, on the Subject
OF THE Stamp-Act.

IT is a long time, Mr. Speaker, since I^have attended
in Parliament. When the resolution was taken in
the House to tax America, I was ill in bed. If I
could have endured to have been carried in my bed,
so great was the agitation of my mind for the conse-
quences, that I would have solicited some kind hand to
have laid me down on this floor, to have borne my tes-
timony against it. It is now an act that has passed.
I would speak with decency of every act of this House ;
but I must beg the indulgence of the House to speak of
it with freedom.

I hope a day may be soon appointed to consider the
state of the nation with respect to America. ' I hope

gentlemen

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 5D

gentlemen will come to this debate with all the temper
and impartiality that his Majesty recommends, and the
importance of the subject requires. A subject of great-
er important than ever engaged the attention of this
House ! That subject only excepted, when, nearly a
century ago, it was the question Avhether you yourselves
were to be bond or free. In the mean time, as I caur
not depend upon health for any future day, such is the
nature of my infirmities, I will beg to say a few words
at present, leaving the justice, the equity, the policy,
the expediency of the act to another time.

1 will only speak to one point, which seems not to
have been generally understood. Some gentlemen
seem to have considered it as a point of honor. If gen-
tlemen consider it in that light, they leave all measures
of right and wrong, to follow a delusion that may lead
to destruction. It is my opinion that this kingdom has
no right to lay a tax upon the Colonies. When in this
House we give and grant, we give and grant what is
our own. But in an American" tax, what do we do ?
We, your Majesty's Commons of Great-Britain, give
and grant to your Majesty, what? our own property?
No. We give and grant to your Majesty, the property
of your Majesty's Commons of America. It is an ab-
surdity in terms.

There is aii idea in some, that the Colonies are vir-
tually represented in this House. I would fain know
by whom an American is represented here ? Is he rep~,
resented by any knight of the shire, in any county in
this kingdom ? Or v/ill yoa tell him that he is repre-
sented by any representative of a borough ; a borough,
v/hich perhaps no man ever saw ? This is what is called
the rotten part of the Constitution. It cannot con-
tinue a century. If it does not drop, it must be ampu-
tated. The idea of a virtual representation of America,
in this House, is the most ^contemptible idea that ever
entered into the head of a man. It does not deserve a
serious refutation.

The

m THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

The Commons of America, represented in their sev-
eral assemblies, have ever been in possession of the
exercise of this, their constitutional right of giving and
granting their ^own money. They would have been
slaves if they had not enjoyed it.

A great deal has been said without doors, of the
power, of the strength of America. It is a topic which
ought to be cautiously meddled with. In a good cause,
on a so^nd bottom, the force of this country can crush
America to atoms. I know the valour of your troops..
I know the skill of your officers. There is not a com-
pany of foot that has served in America, out of which
you may not pick a man of sufficient knowledge and
experience, to make a governor of a colony there. Buv
©n this ground, on the Stamp-Act, when so many here
will think it a crying injustice, I am one who will lift
up my hands against it.

In such a cause, your success would be hazardous.
America, if she fell, would fall like the strong man.
She would embrace the pillars of the State, and pull
down the constitution along with her. Is this your
boasted peace ? Not to sheath the sword in its scab-
bard, but to sheath it in the bowels of your country-
men ? Will you quarrel with yourselves, now the whole
house of Bourbon is united against you ?

The Americans have been wronged. They have
been driven to madness by injustice. Will you punish
them for the madness ypu have occasioned ? Rather
let prudence and temper come first from this side. I
will undertake for America, that she will follow the
example.

Upon the whole, I will beg leave to tell the House
what is really my opinion. It is, that the Stamp-Acl,
fee repealed absolutely, totally, and inamediately.

Scene

THE tJOLUMBlAN Oi'lATOR. ^1

Scene from the Farce of Lethe.

Enter Mr, and Mrs, Tatoo, and JEsOT,

Mrs. Tat, ■\;\7HY don't you come along, Mr.
V V Tatoo ? what the deuce are you
afraid of?

,^s. Don't be angry, young lady ; the gentlemanis
your husband, I suppose.

Mrs, Tat, How do you know that, Su' ? What,
you an't all conjurers in this world, are you ?

^s. Your behaviour to hini is sufficient proof of
his condition, without the gift of conjuration.

Mrs, Tat. Why, I was as free with him before mar-
riage as I am now ; I never was coy or prudish in my
life.

,^8. I believe you, madam; pray, how long have
you been married? you seem to be very young,
madam.

Mrs. Tat. I am old enough for a husband, and
have been married long enough to be tired of one.

,^8, How long, pray ?

Mrs, Tat. Why, above three months: I married
Mr. Tatoo without my guardian's consent.

.^s. If you married nim with your own consent, I
think you might continue your affection a little longer.

Mrs. Tat. What signifies what you think, if I don't
think so ? We are quite tired of one another, and ai'e
come to drink some of yoiu* le — lethaly — le-lethily, 1
think they call it, to forget one another, and be unmar-
ried again.

jEs. The waters can't divorce you, madam; and
you may easily forget him without the assistance of
lethe.

Mr. Tat. Aye ! how so ?

,^3. By remembering continually he is your huSi
band : there are several ladies have no other receipt*
But what does the gentleman say to Uiis ?

F 4H^*

02 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Mrs, Tat. What signifies what he says ? I an't so
young and so foolish as that comes to, to be directed
by my husband, or to care what either he-says, or you
say.

Mr. Tat. Sir, I was a drummer in a marching regi-
ment, when I ran away with that young lady. I im-
mediately bought out of the corps, and thought myself
made forever ; little imagining that a poor vain fellow
was purchasing fortune at the expense of his happiness.

./E5. 'Tis even so, friend ; fortune and felicity are as
often at variance as man and wife.

Mr. Tat. I found it so. Sir. This high life (as I
thought it) did not agree with me ; I have not laugh'd,
and scarcely slept, since my advancement ; and unless
your worship can alter her notions, I must e'en quit the
blessings of a fine lady and her portion, and, for con-
tent, have recourse to eight pence a-day and my drum
again.

.>^s. Pray, who has advised you to a separation ?

Mrs. Tat. Several young ladies of my acquaintance ;
who tell me, they are not angry at me for marrying
him ; but for being fond of him since I have married
him ; and they say I should be as complete a fine lady
as any of them, if I would but prov:ure a separate di-
vorcement.

^s. Pray, madam, will you let me know what you
call a fine lady ?

Mrs. Tat. Why, a fine lady, and a fine gentleman,
are tw^o of the finest things upon earth.

^s. I have just now had the honour of knowing what
a fine gentleman is ; so, pray confine yourself to the

Mrs. Tat. A fine lady, before marriage, lives with

her papa and mamma, who breed her up till she learns

to despise them, and resolves to, do nothing they bid

her ; this makes her such a prodigious favorite, that

she wants for nothing. And when once she is her own

mistress, then comes the pleasure !

M.^. Pray let us hear.

•^ Mrs;

I

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 63

Mrs, Tat. She lies in bed all ihc morning, rattles
about all day, and sits up- all night; she goes every
where, and sees every thing ; knows every body, and
loves no body ; ridicules her friends, coquets with her
lovers, sets them together by the qars, tells fibs, makes
mischief, buys china, cheats at cards, keeps a lap-dog,
and hates the parson ; she laughs much, talks loud.
never blushes, says vrhat she will, does what she will,
goes where she will, marries whom she pleases, hates
her husband in a month, breaks his heart in four, be-
comes a widow, slips from her gallants, and begins the
world again. There's a life for you; what do you
think of a fine lady now ? ^

^s. As I expected. You are very young, madam,
and, if you are not very careful, your natural propensity
to noise and affectation will run you headlong into
folly, extravagance, and repentance.

Mrs. Tat. What would you have me do ?

Ms. Drink a large quantity of lethe to the loss of
your acquaintance ; and do you, Sir, drink another,
to forget this false step of your wife ; for whilst you
remember her folly, you can never thoroughly regard
her; and whilst you keep good company, madam, as
you call it, and follow their example, you can never
have a just regard for your husband ; so bpth drink
and be happy.

Mrs. Tat. Well, give it me whilst I am in humour, or
I shall certainly change my mind again.

an*
the

Ms^ Be patient till the rest of the company drink,
d divert yourself in the mean time with w^alkino; h\.

grove.

Mrs. Tat. Weil, come along, husband, and keep
me in humour, or I >hall beat you such an alarum as
you never h(^.i in all vnv.v life.

Extract

§4 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Extract trom the Eulogy on Dr. Franklin,

PRONOUNCED BY THE AbBE FaUCHET, IN THE NaMH
OF THE CoJtMOHS OF PARIS, 1790.

A SECOND creation has taken place; the ele*
mcnts o^ society begin to ^ combine together ;
the moral universe is now seen issuing from chaos ;
the genius of liberty is awakened, and springs up ;
she shedg her divine light and creative powers upon the
two hemispheres. A great nation, astonished at seeing
herself free, stretches her arms from one extremity of
the earth to the other, and embraces the first nation
that became so : the foundations of a new city are cre-
ated in the two worlds ; brother nations hasten to in-
habit it. It is the city of mankind !

One of the first founders of this universal city was the
immortal FRANKLIN, the deliverer of America.
The second founders, who accelerated this great work,
made it worthy of Europe. The legislators of France
have rendered the most solemn homage to his memory.
They have said, " A friend of humanity is dead :
mankind ought to be overwhelmed with sorrow !^ Na-
tions have hitherto only worn mourning for Kings^;
let us assume it for a Man, and let the tears of French-
men mingle with those of Americans, in order to do
honor to the memory of one of the Fathers of Lib-

erty y^

The city of Paris, which once contained tlws philos-
opher within its walls, which was intoxicated with the
olcasurc jof hearing, admiring, and loving him ; of
Vathering from his lips the maxims of a moral legisla-
for, and' of imbibing from the effusions of his heart a
passion for the public welfare, rivals Boston and Phila-
delphia, his two native cities (for in one he was born asj
;t were a man, and in the other a legislator) in its pro-
:Diind attachment to his merit end his glory.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. Gij

ft has commanded this funeral solemnity, in order to
perpetuate the gratitude anti the grief of this third
country, which, by the courage and activity with which
it has profited of his lessons, has shown itself worthy of
having him at once for an instructor and a model.

In selecting me for the interpreter of its wishes, it
has declared, that it is less to the talents of an orator,
than to th$ patriotism of a citizen, the zeal of a preacher
of liberty, and the sensibility of a friend of men, that
it hath confided this solemn function. In this point of
view, I may speak with firm confidence ; for I have the
public opinion, and the testimony of my own con-
science, to second my wishes. Since nothing else is
wanting than freedom, and sensibility, for that species
of eloquence which this eulogiunr requires, I am satis-
fied ; for I already possess them.

My voice shall extend to France, to America, to
posterity. I am now to do justice to a great man, the
founder of transatlantic freedom ; I am -to praise him
in the name of the mother city of French liberty. I
myself also am a man ; I am a freeman ; I possess the '
suffrages of my fellow-citizens : this is enough ; my
discourse shall be immortal. ,

The academies, the philosophical societies, the learn-
ed associations which have done themselves honor by in-
scribing the name of Franklin in their records, can best
appreciate the debt due to his genius, for haying ex-
tended the power of man over nature, and presented
new and sublime ideas, in a style simple as truth, and
pure as light.

It is not the naturalist and the philosopher that the
orator of the Commons of Paris ought to- describe ; it
is the man who hath accelerated the progress of social
order ; it is the legislator, who hath prepared the liberty
of nations !

Franklin, in his periodical works, which had prodi-
gious circulation on the continent of America, laid die
sacred foundations of social morality. He was no less
inimitable in the developements of the same morality,
F 2 when

66 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

when applied to the cluties of friendship, general chaii-
(y, the employment of one's time, the happiness at-
tendant upon good works, the necessary combination
of private with public. welfare, the propriety and ne-
cessity of industry ^., and to that happy state which puts
us at ease with society and with ourselves. The prov-
erbs of " Old Henry," and ^' Poor Richai^d," are in
the hands both of the learned and the ignorant ; they
contain the most sublime morality, reduced to popular
language and common comprehension ; and form the
catechism of happiness for all mankind.

Franklin was too great a moralist, and too well
-acquainted with human affairs, not to perceive that
women were the arbiters of manners. He strove to
perfect their empire ; and accordingly engaged them
to adorn the sceptre of virtue with their graces. It is
in their power to excite courage ; to overthrow vice,
by means of their disdain ; to kindle civism, and to light
.;p ill every heart the holy love of our country.

His daughter, who was opulent and honored with
the public esteem, dielpcd to manufacture and to make
up the clothing for the^ army with her own hands ;
and spread abroad a noble emulation among the female
citizens, who became eager to assist those by means of
the needle and the spindle, who were serving the state
-^yith their swords and their guns.

With the charm ever attendant upon true wisdom
and the grace ever flowing from tme sentiment, this
grave philosopher knew how to converse with the other
>ex ; to inspire them with a taste for domestic occupa-
tions ; to hold out to them the prize attendant upon
honor unaccompanied by reproach, and instil the duty
of cultivating the first precepts of education, in order
',0 teach them to their children ; and thus to acquit
the debt due to nature, and fulfil the hope of socie-
ty. It must be acknowledged, that, in his own coun-
• ry, he addressed himself to minds capable of compre-
■lending him.

Immortal

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. C7

Immortal females of America ! 1 will tell it to the
daughters of France, and they only are fit to applaud
you ! You have attained the utmost of what your sex
is capable ; you possess the beauty, the simplicity, the
manners, at once natural and pure ; the primitive
graces of the golden age. It was among you that liber-
ty was first to have its origin. But the empire of free-
dom, wliich is extended to France, is about to carry
your manners along w^ith it, and produce a revolution
in morals as well as in politics.

Already our female citizens, (for they have lately
become such) are not any longer occupied with those
fi:ivolous ornaments, and vain pleasures, which were
nothing more than the amusements of slavery ; they
have awakened the love of liberty in the bosoms of
fathers, of brothers, and of husbands; they have en-
couraged them to make the most generous sacrifices ;
their delicate hands have removed the earth, dragged
it along, and helped to elevate the immense amphithe-
atre of the grand confederation. It is no longer the
love of voluptuous softness that attracts their regard ;
it is the sacred fire of patriotism.

The laws which are to reform education, and with
it the national manners,, are already prepared;" they
will advance, they will fortify the cause of liberty by
means of their happy influence, and become the second
saviours of their country !

Franklin did not omit any of the means of being use-
ful to-meuy or serviceable to society. He spoke to all
conditioits, to both sexes, to evefy age. This amiable
moralist descended, in his writings, to the most artless
details ; tq the most ingenuous familiarities ; to the first
ideas of a rural, a commercial, and a civil life ; to the
dialogues of old men and children ; full at once of all
the verdure and all the maturity of wisdom. In short,
the prudent lessons arising from the exposition of those
obscure, happy, easy virtues, which form so many links
in the chain of a good man's life, derived immense
weight from that reputation for genius which he had

acquire^!.

ea THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

acquired, by being one of the first naturalists and
greatest philosophers in the universe.

At one and the same time, he governed nature in the
heavens and in the hearts of men. Amidst the tem-
pests of the atmosphere, he directed the thunder;
amidst the storms of society, he-.-directed the passions.
Think, gendemen, v/ith what attentive docility, with
what religious respect, one must hear the voice of a
simple man, who preached up human happiness, when
it was recollected that it was the powerful voice of the
same man who regulated the lightning.

He electrified the consciences, in order to extract the
destructive fire of vice, exactly in the same manner as
he electrified the heavens, in order peaceably to invite
from them the terrible fire of the elements.

Venerable old man ! august philosopher ! legislator
of the felicity of thy country, prophet of the fraternity
of the human race, what ecstatic happiness embellish-
ed the end of thy career! From thy fortunate asylum,
and in the midst of thy brothers who enjoyed in tran-
quillity the fruit of thy virtues, and the success of thy
genius, thou hast sung songs of deliverance. The last
looks, which thou didst cast around thee, beheld Ame-
rica happy ♦, France, on the other side of the ocean,
free, and a sure indication of the approaching freedom
and happiness of the world.

The United States, looking upon themselves as thy
children, have bewailed the death of the father of their
republic. France, thy family by adoption, has hon-
ored thee as the founder of her laws ; and the human
race has revered thee as the universal patriarch who
has formed the alliance of nature with society. Thy
remembrance belongs to all ages ; thy metoory to all
nations 5 thy glory to eternity ! .

Epilogue

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 6^

Epilogue to Abdison's Cato.

YOU see mankind the same in every age \
Heroic fortitude, tyrannic rage,

Boundless ambition, patriotic truth,

And hoary treason, and untainted youth,

Have deeply markM all periods and all climes,

The noblest virtues, and the blackest crimes. ■

Did Cesar, drunk with power, and madly brave-, .

Insatiate burn, his country to enslave ?

Did he for this, lead forth a servile host

To spill the choicest blood that Rome could boast ?

The British Cesar too hath done the same,

And doom'd this age to everlasting fame.

Columbia's crimson'd fields still smoke with gore ;'

Her bravest heroes cover all the shore :
*The flower of Britain, in full martial bloom,

In this sad war, sent headlong to the tomb.

Did Rome's brave senate nobly dare t' oppose

The mighty torrent, stand confess'd their foes,

And boldly arm the virtuous fev;'^ and dare

The desp'rate hoiTors of unequal war ?

Our senate too the same bold deed have done,
, And for a Cato, arm'd a Washington ;

A chief, in all the -ways of battle skilPd,

Great in the council, mighty in the field.

His martial ann, and steady soul alone, ^

Have made thy legions shake, thy navy groan, > .

And thy proud empire totter to the throne. ) .

O, what thou art, mayst thou forever be,

And death the lot of any chief but thee !

We've had our Decius too ; and Howe could say,

Health, pardon, peace, George sends America ;

Yet brought destruction for the olive wreath ;

For health, contagion, and for pardon, death.

Rise ! then, my countr}Tnen, for fight prepare ;

Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war :

'Tis

70 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR;

'Tis your bold task the gen'rous strife to try ;
For your griev'd country nobly dare to die !
No pent up Utica contracts your powers ;
For the whole beundless continent is our's f

Self-Conceit.
An Address, spoken ey a very- small Boy.

WHEN boys are exhibiting in public, the polite-
ness or curiosity of the hearers frequently in-
duces them to inquire the names of the performers.
To save the trouble of answers, so far as relates to my-
self, my name is Charles Chatterbox. I was born in
this town ; and have grown to my present enormous
stature, without any artificial help. It is true, I eat,
drink, and sleep, and take as much care of my noble
self, as any young man about ; but I am a monstrous
great student. - There is no telling the half of what I
have read.

Why, what do you think of the Arabian Tales ?
Truth I every word truth ! There's the story of the
lamp, and of Rcok's eggs as big as a meeting-house.
And there is the history of Sindbad the Sailor. I have
read every word of them. And I have read Tom
Thumb's folio through. Winter Evening Tales, and
Seven Champions, andParismus, and Parismenus, and
Valentine and Orson, and Mother Bunch, and Seven
Wise Masters, and a curious book, entitled, Think well
©n't.

Then there is another wonderful book, containing
fifty reasons why ar. old bachelor was not mamed.
The first was, that nobody would have him ; and the
second was, he declared to- every body, that he would
not marry ; and so it went on stronger and stronger.
Then, at the close of the book, it gives an account of
his marvellous death and burial. And in the appen-
dix, it tells about his being ground over, and coming

out

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 71

out as young, and as fresh, and as fair as ever. Then,
every few pages, is a picture of him to the life.

I have also read Robinson Crusoe, and Reynard the
fox, and Moll Flanders ; and I have read twelve de-
lightful novels, and Irish Rogues, and Life of Saint
Patrick, and Philip Quarle, and Conjuror Crop, and
^sop's Fables, and Laugh and be fat, and Toby Lump-
kin's Elegy on the Birth of a Child, and a Comedy on
the Death of his Brother, and an Acrostic, occasioned
by a mortal sickness of his dear wife, of which she re-
covered. This famous author wrote a treatise on the
Rise and Progress of Vegetation ; and a whole Body of
Divinity he comprised in four lines.

I have read all the works of Pero Gilpin, whose
memory was so extraordinary, that he never forgot
tiie hours of eating and sleeping. This Pero was a
rare lad. Why, he could stand on his head, as if it
were a real pedestal ; his feet he used for drumsticks.
He was trumpeter to the foot guards in Queen Betty's
time ; and if he had not blown his breatk away, might
have lived to this day.

Then, I have read the history of a man who married
for money, and of a woman that would wear her hus-
imnd's small-clothes in spite of him ; and I have read
four books of riddles and rebusses ; and all that is not
half a quarter.

Now, what signifies reading so much if one can't tell
of it? In thinking over these things, I ana sometimes
so lost in company, that I don't hear any thing that is
said, till some one pops out that witty saying, " A
penny for your thoughts." Then 1 say, to be sure,
I was thinking of a book I had been reading. Once,
in this mood, I came very near swallowing my cup and
saucer; and another time, was upon the very point of
taking down a punch-bowl, that held a gallon. Now', if
I could fairly have gotten them down, they would not
have hurt me a jot; for my mind is capacious enough
for a china shop. There is no choaking a man of my
reading. Why, if my mind can contain Genii and

Giants.

72 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Giants, sixty feet high, and enchanted castles, wky
not a punch-bowl, and a whole tea-board ?

It was always conjectured that I should be a mon-
*strous great man ; and I believe, as much as I do the
Spanish war, that i shall be a perfect Brobdingnag in
hme.

• Well now, do you see, when I have read a book, I go
right off into the company of the ladies ; for they are
fhe judges whether a man knows any thing or not.
Then I bring on a subject which will show my parts to
the best advantage; and I always mind and sov a
j^mart thing just before I quit.

You must know, moreover, that I have learned a
gi'eat deal of wit. I was the first man who invented
all that peo})le say about cold tongues, and warm
tongues, and may-bees. I invented the wit of kissiug
the candlestick when a lady holds it ; as also ib^ plays
of criminal and cross question ; and above all, I invent-
ed the wit of paying toll at bridges. In short, ladies
and gentlemen, take me all in all; I am a downright
curious fellow.

Howard and Lester.
A Dialogue on Learning and Usefulness,

TT 7 X IFE is much like a fiddle: every man
J_ii plays such a tune as suits him.

Lester, The more like a fiddle, the better I like it.
Any thing that makes a merry noise suits me ; and the
man that does not set his hours to music, has a dull
rime on't.

How* But, Lester, are there no serious duties in
life ? Ought we not to improve our minds, and to pre-
pare for usefulness ?

Lest, Why, in the present da^, a man^s preparing
himself for usefulness, is like carrying coals to New-
castle. Our C€untry is full of useful men ;, ten, at

I THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 73

l/eaist, to where one is wanted, and all of them ten
jtimes as ready to serve the public, as the public is to
'be served. If every man should go to Congress that's
!lit f®r it, the federal city would hardly hold them.
! Hcw. You mean, ii all who think themselves fit
'for it.

'Lest, No ; I meant as I said.
j How. Then what do you think fits a man for Con-
gress ?

Lest, Why he must be f.^ppant and bold.

How, Wiiat g0od will that do him, if he is without
[knowledge ?

Lest. O ! he must have knowledge to be sure.

How. Well, must he not be a man in whom the
people can trust ? Must he not understand politics ?
and must he not be able and willing to serve his coun-
try?

Lest, I agree to all that.

How, Then you suppose that the federal city could
hardly hold all our men who unite eloquence with
confidence, knowledge with integrity, and policy with
patriotism. I fear that a countmg-house would give
them full accommodation.

Lest. I don't go so deep into these matters : but
this is certain, that when the election comes, more than
enough are willing to go*

How. That, my friend, only proves that more thai)
enough are ignorant of themselves : but are tliere no
other ways of serving the public ?

Lest. Yes ; one may preach, if he will do it for little
or nothing. He may practise law, if he can get any
body to employ him ; or he may be a Doctor or an
Instructor ; but I tell you the country is crowded with
learned men begging business.

How. Then you intend to prepare yourself for the
ignorant herd, so that you may not be crowded.

Lest, I have serious thoughts of it. You may take
your own way, but I'll never wear out a fine pair of
eyes in preparing myself for usefulness, till this same

G publx«

74 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

public will give me a bond to employ me when I am
ready to serve them. Till such a bond is signed, scal-
ed, and delivered, I shall set my hours to the tune ot
** Jack's alive." To-day's the ship I sail in, and that
will carry the flag, in spite of the combined powers of
yesterdays and to-morrows.'

How, Well, Lester, you can take your choice. I
shall set my hours to a more serious tune. I ask no
bond of the public. If my mind is well furnished with
knowledge, and that same generous public, which has
so uniformly called to her service the discerning, should
refusemy services, still I shall possess a treasure, which,
after a few years of dissipation, you would give the
world to purchase, THE RECOLLECTION OF
TIME WELL SPENT.

Christ's Crucifixion.

IVrOW darkness fell

■^^ On all the region round ; the shrouded sun !
From the impen' tent earth withdrew his light :
I thirst, the Saviour cry'd ; and lifting up
His eyes in agony, My God, my God !•
Ah ! why hast thou forsaken me ? exclaim'd.

Yet deem him not forsaken of his God !
Beware that error. 'Twas the mortal part
Of his compounded nature, breathing forth
Its last sad agony, that so complain'd :
Doubt not that vail of sorrow was withdrawn,
And heav'nly comfort to his soul vouchsaPd,
Ere thus'he cry'd. Father ! into thy hands
My spirit I commend. Then bow'd his head
And died. Now Gabriel and his heavenly choir
Of minist'ring angels hov'ring o'er the cross
Receiv'd his spirit, at length from mortal pangs
yVnd fleshly pris'n set free, and bore it thence
Upon their wings rejoicing. Then bekold

A prodi^

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. . 75.

A prodigy, that to tlic world announc'd
A new religion and dissolv'd the old :
The temple's sacred vail was rent in twain
From top to bottom, 'midst th' attestini^ shocks
Of earthquake and the rending up of graves.
Now those mysterious symbols, heretofore
Gurtain'd from vulgar eyes, and holiest decm'u
Of holies, were display'd to public vievv' ;
The mercy-seat, with its cherubic wings
O'ershadoAved, and the golden ark beneath
Cov'ring the testimony, now through the rent
Of that dissever'd vail first saw the light ;
A world redeem'd had now no farther need
Of types and emblems, dimly shadowing forth
An angry Deity withdrawn from sight
And canopied in clouds. Him, face to face,
Now in full light reveal'd, the dying breath
Of his dear Son appeas'd, and purchas'd peace
And reconcilement for offending man.

Thus the partition wall, by Moses built,
By Christ was levell'd, and the Gentile world
Enter'd the breach, by their great Captain led
Up to the throne of grace, opening himself
Through his own flesh a new and living way.
Then were the oracles of God made known
To all the nations, sprinkled by the blood
Of Jesus, and baptiz'd into his death ;
So was the birthright of th^ elder born,
Heirs of the promise, forfeited ; whilst they,
Whom sin had erst in bondage held, made free
iProm sin, and servants of the living God,
Now gain'd the gift of God, eternal life.

Soon as those sips and prodigies were seen
Of those who watch'd the cross, conviction smote
rheir fear-struck hearts. The sun, at noon-day dark :
Ihe earth convulsive underneath their feet,
\nd the firm rocks, in shiver'd fragments rent,
tous'd them at once to tremble and believe.
Then was our Lord by heathen lips confess'd,

When..

i

I

:S THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

When the centurion cry'd, In very truth

This righteous Person was the Son of God ;

The rest, in heart assenting, stood abash'd, .|

Watching in silence the tremendous scene.

The recollection of his gracious acts.
His dying pray'rs and their own impious taunts
Now rose in sad review ; too late iLey wish'd
The deed undone, and sighing smote their breasts.
Straight from God's presence went that angel forth,
Whose trumpet shall call up the sleeping dead *

At the last day, and bade the saints arise |

And come on earth to hail this promis'd hour,
The day-spring of salvation. Forth they came
From their dark tenements, their shadowy forms
Made visible as in their fleshly state,
And through the holy city here and there
Frequent they gleam'd, by night, by day, with- fear
And wonder seen of many : holy seers,
Prophets and martyrs from the grave set free,
And the first fruits of the redeemed dead.

They, who with Christ transhgur'd on the mount
Were seen of his disciples in a cloud
Of dazzling glory, now, in form distinct,
Mingling amidst the public haunts of men,
Struck terror to all hearts : Ezekiel there,
The captive seer, to whom on Chebar's bankb
The heaven's were open'd and the fatal roil
Held forth, with dire denunciations fiU'd,
Of lamentation, mourning and of woe,
Now falling fast on Israel's wretched race :
He too was there, Hilkiah's holy son,
With loins close girt, and glowing lips of fire
By God's own finger touch'd : there might be seeii
The youthful prophet, Belteshazzar nam'd
Of the Chaldees, interpreter of dreams,
Knowledge of God bestow'd, in visions skill'd,
And fair, and iearn'd, and wise : the Baptist here,
Girt in his hairy mantle, frowning stalk'd.
And pointing to his ghastly wound, exclaiin'd,.

Yc

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 77

Yc vipers ! whom my warning could not move

Timely to flee from the impending wrath

Now fallen on your head ; whom I indeed

With water, Christ hath now with fire baptiz'd : '

Barren ye were of fruits, which I prescrib'd

Meet for repentance, and behold ! the axe

Is laid to the unprofitable root

Of every sapless tree, hewn down, condemn'd

And cast into the fire. Lo ! these are they,

These shadowy forms now floating in your sight,

These are the harbingers of ancient days,

Who witnessed the Messias, and announc'd

His coming upon earth. Mark with what scorn

Silent they pass you by : them had ye heard,

Them had ye noted with a patient mind,

Ye had not crucified the Lord of Life :

He of these stones to Abraham shall raise up

Children, than you more worthy of his stock ;

And now his winnowing fan is in his hand.

With which he-ll purge his floor, and having stor'd

The precious grain in garners, will consume

With fire unquenchable the refuse chaflf..

The Woxders of Nature.

HOW mighty ! how majestic ! and how mysteri-
ous are nature's works ! When the air is calm,
where sleep the stormy winds ? In vs^hat chambers are
they reposed, or in what dungeons confined ? But
when He, " who holds them in his fist," is pleased
to awaken their rage, and throw open their prison
doors, then, with irresistible impetuosity, they, rush
forth, scattering dread, and menacing destruction.

The atmosphere is liurled into the most tumultuous
confusion. The aerial torrent bursts its way over moun-
tains, seas, and continents. All things fcol the dread-
ful shock. All things tremble before the. furious blast.
The forest, vexed and torn, groans undcrlhe scourge.
G 2 Hex.

78 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Her sturdy sons are strained to the very root, and af-
most sweep the soil they were wont to shade. The
stubborn oak, that disdains to bend, is dashed head-
long to the ground ; and, with shattered arms, with
prostrate trunk, blocks up the road. While the flexile
reed, that springs up in the marsh, yielding to the gust,
(as the nieek and pliant temper, to injuries, or the re-
signed and patient spirit, to misfortunes) eludes the
force of the storm, and survives amidst the wide-spread
havoc.

For a moment, the turbulent and outrageous sky
seems to be assuaged ; but it intermits its warmth, only
to increase its strength. Soon the sounding squadrons
of the air return to the attack, and renew their ravages
with redoubled fury. The stately dome rocks amidsl
the wheeling clouds. The impregnable tower totteiJ'
on its basis, and threatens to overvrhelm v/hom it wgs
intended to protect. The ragged rocks are rent ii.
pieces ; and even the hills, the perpetual hills, on their
deep foundations are scarcely secure. Where now is
the place of safety ? when the city reels,, and houses
become heaps ! Sleep affrighted flies. Diversion is
turned into horror. Ail is uproar in the elements ; all
is consternation among mortals ; and nothing but one
wide scene of rueful devastation through the land.

The ocean swells, with tremendous commotions. The
ponderous weaves are heaved frdtn their capacious bed,
and almost lay bare the unfathomable deep. Flung in^
to the most rapid agitation, they sweep over the rocks ;
they lash the lofty cliffs, and toss themselves into the
clouds. Navies are rent from their anchors ; and, with
all their enormous load, are whirled swift as the arrow,
wild as the winds, along the vast abyss. Now they
climb the rolling mountain ; they plough the frightful
ridge ; and seem to skim the skies. Anon they plunge
into the opening gulf; they lose the sight of day ; and
'ire lost themselves to every eye.

How vahi is the pilot's art; how impotent the mart-
vcr^s strength ! ** They nrcl tq and fro, and staggei

lik^

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 7^

like a drunken man.'* Despair is in every face, and
death sits threatening on every surge. But when Om-
nipotence pleases to command, the storm is hushed to
silence ; the lightnings lay aside their fiery bolts, and
tke billows cease to roiU

m^

Dialogue on Physiognomy.

Enter Frank ayid Henry.
Fra k T^ appears strange to me that people can be
'^ ' -I so imposed upon. There is no difficulty in
piidging folks by their looks. I profess to know as
jmuch of a man, at the first view, as by half a dozen
years acquaintance.

Henry, Pray hov/ is that done ? I should wish io
learn such an art.

Ft. Did you never read Lavater on Physiognomy ?

Hen, No. What do you mean by such a hard word ?

jPr. Pliysiognomy means a knowledge of men's
hearts, thoughts, and characters, by their looks. For
instance, if you see a man, with a forehead jutting over
his eyes like a piazza, with a pair of eyebrows, heavy
like the cornice of a house ; with full' eyes, and a Ro-
man nose, depend on it he is a great scholar, and an
honest man.

Htn, It seems to me I should rather go below his
nose to discover his scholarship.

Fr, By no means : if you look for beauty, you may
descend to the mouth and chin ; otherwise never go
below the region of the brain.

; Enter Georgs.

Geor. Well, I have been to see the man hanged.
And he is gone to the other world, with just such a
great forehead and Roman nose, as you have always
een praising.

Fr, Remember, George, ail. signs fail in dry
weather,

€r«wr. Now, be hone^, Frank, and own that there

is

dO THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. I

is nothing in all this trumpery of yours. The only way^
to know men is by their actions. If a man commit
burglary, think you a Roman nose ought to save him
from punishment ?

Fr. I don't carry my notions so far as that; but!
it is certain that all faces in the world are different ;j
and equally true, that each has some marks about it,^
by which one can discover the temper and character
of the person..

Enter Peter. J

Peter, [to Frank,'] Sir, I have heard of your fame^
from Dan to Beersheba ; that you can know a man by
his face, and can tell his thoughts by his looks. Hear-
ing this, I have visited you without the ceremony of an
introduction.

Fr, Why, indeed, I do profess something in that
way.

Pet, By that foreheadj nose, and those eyes oi
yours, one might be sure of an acute, penetrating
mind.

Fr, I see thdit you are not ignorant of physiog
nomy.

Pet, I am not ; but still I am so far from being an
adept in the art, that, unless the features are very re-
markable, I cannot determine with certainty.^ But
yours is the most striking face I ever saw. There is a
certain firmness in the lines, which lead from the outei
verge to the centre of the apple of your eye, which
denotes great forecast, deep thought, bright invention,
and a genius for great purposes.

Fru You are a perfect master of the art. And to'
show you that I ksow something of it, permit me to
observe, that the form of your face denotes frankhess,
truth, and honesty. Your heart is a stranger to guiley
your lips, to deceit, and your hands, to fraud.

Pet, I must confess that you have hit upon my true
character; though a different one, from what 1 have
sustained in the view of the world.

Fr:

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 81

Fr, [/o Henry and George^ Now see two strong
examples of the tmdi of physiognomy. \^lVhih. he is
speaking tMi,Peicr takes out his pocket-hook^ and makes
off zvith himself, ] Now, can } ou conceive, that with-
out this knowledge, I could fathom the character of a
total stranger ?

Heri, Pray tell us by what jnarks you discovered
that in his heart and lips was no guile, and in his
hands, no fraud ?

Fr, Aye, leave that to me; we arc not to reveal
eur secrets. But I will show you a flice and character,
which exactly suits him. IFcelsfor his pocket-book in
hoik 'pockets, looks zoildly and concerned.^

Geor^ [Tauntingly,} -^Y^^ *' i" ^'^^ heart is no

fuile, in his lips no deceit, and in his hands no fraud !
fow we see a strong example of the power of physi-
ognomy !"

Fr, He is a wretch ! a traitor against every good
sign! I'll pursue him to the ends of the earth. [Of-
fers to go,]

Hen, Stop a moment. His fine honest face is far
enough before this time. You have not yet discover-
ed the worst injury he has done you.

Fr, What's that ? I had no watch or money for
him to steal.

Hen, By his deceitful lips, he has robbed you of
any just conception of yourself; he has betrayed you
into a foolish belief that you are possessed of most ex-
traordinary genius and talent??. Whereas^ separate
from the idle whim about physiognomy, you have had
no more pretence to genius or learning than a common
school-boy. Learn iienceforth to estimate men's hands
by their deeds, their lips, by their words, and their
hearts, by their lives.

Or A Tin'.;

82 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Oration delivered at Paris by CiJizen Car-

NOT, President of the Executive Directory,

i AT the Festival of Gratitude and Victory,

' celebrated *at the Champ-de-Maks, May 29,

1796.

IT is at the moment when nature is renovated, when
the earth, adorned with flowers and dressed in green,
promises new harvests ; when all beini^s proclaim in
their own language, the beneficent Intelligence which
renovates the universe, that the French people assem-
ble, on this great festival, to render a distinguished hom-
age to those talents and virtues of the friends of the
country and humanity. What day can better unite
all hearts ! iVhat citizen, what man can be a stranger
to the influence of gratitude ! We exist only through an
uninterrupted course of beneficence, and our life is but
a continual exchange of services.

As soon as born, our eyes, fixed on the heavens,
appear already to acknowledge a primary Benefactor;
Weak, without support, the love of our parents watches
over our infancy, and provides for wyants continually
renewed. They direct our first steps ; their patient /
solicitude assists in developing our organs ; we receive »
from them our first ideas of what we are ourselves, and I
of surrounding objects. Additional care models our '
hearts to aflection, our minds to knowledge, and our',
bodies to useful labor. It is for our happiness, that;
the wise have reflected on the duties of man ; that the i'!
learned have diven into the secrets of nature ; that the ^
magistrate watches, and that the legislator prepares in ^
deliberation protecting laws. ^

Soon we are enabled to be useful. Good children, '
we strew flowers over the age of our parents, and their •..
trembling voice blesses us in their last moments. Be- f.
come parents in our turn, we prepare, in the education i
©f our children, the felicity of our declining years ; 4

and I

i

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. ^ 83

and wc thus continue in a new generation the chain of
benevolence and gratitude. Sensibility is not restricted
within the family circle ; the indigent is searched for
under the thatch ; succours and consolation are lavish-
ed ; and the donor, at first paid for the good action by
the pleasure of having performed it, is doubly rewarded
by the gmtitude of the object. Benevolence! how
happy are thy votaries, and how much to be pitied, the
soul that knows thee not !

He who is a good son and a good father is also a
good citizen. He loves his country ; renders with
alacrity the tribute of services ; he delights in return-
ing to his brothers the protection he has received from
them. Either magistrate or warrior, manufacturer or
farmer ; in the temple of the arts ; in the Senate ; in the
fields of glory, or the workshops of industry, he shows
himself ambitious of c ontributing towards the prosper-
ity of his country, and to deserve one day its grati-
tude. For there is a national gratitude for individuals.
At this moment a people are all assembled to express
their gratitude to the virtuous citizens who have de-
served it. How agreeable is the task! How we delight
m paying you that homage ; you to whom the country
owes its safety, its glory, and the foundation of its
prosperity !

You, to whom France owes its political regeneration ;
courageous philosophers, whose writings have planted
the seeds of the revolution, corroded the fetters of sla-
very, and blunted by degrees the ravings of fanaticism.
You, citizens, whose dauntless courage effected this
happy revolution; founded the republic, and contend-
ed these seven years against crime and ambition, royal-
ism and anarchy. You all, in a word, who labor to
render France happy and flourishing ; who render it
illustrious by your talents, and enrich it by your dis-
coveries ; receive the solemn testimony of national
gratitude.

Receive that testimony particularly, republican ar-
tnies ; you, whose glory and successes are fresh in the

recollection

84 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

rccoIiecLion of all. It is you who have defended !is
against ton combined kings ; who have driven them
from our territory ; have transferred to their dominions
the scourge of war. You have not only conquered
men ; you have overcome the obstacle thrown m your
way by nature. You have triumphed over fatigue,
hunger, and winter. What a spectacle for the people !
what a dreadful lesson to the enemies of liberty !

A new-born republic arms its children to defend its
independence ; nothing can restrain their impetuosity ;
traversing rivers, carrying entrenchments, chmbing
rocks, ilere, after a series of victories, they pushed
back our limits to those k^rriors that nature intended
for us, and pursuing over ice the remains of thi-ee ar-
mies, transformed an oppressed and hostile nation into
a free and allied people. There they fly to exterminate J
the hordes of traitors and villain.^, subsidized by En--
o-land; punish their thieves, and restore to the repub-
fic brothers too long misled. Here, surmounting the
Pyrenees, and precipitating themselves from their sum-
mit; overthrowing whatever opposes their progress,
and checked only by an honorable peace ; there as-
cending the Alps and Appenines, they fly across the
Po and Adige. . .

The ardor of the soldier is seconded by the geinus|
and boldness of the chiefs. They phin with science,^
and execute with energy ; now displaying their forces
with calmness ; then courting danger at the head of
their brothers in arms. Oh that I could here display
die immense and glorious picture of their victories I
that I could name our most intrepid defenders ! W hat
a crowd of sublime images and beloved names press
upon my recollection ! "immortal wamors, posterity
will not believe the multitude of your triumphs ; but to
u=^ history loses all its improbabilities.

But do we not see, even on this spot, a portion ot
tbose brave deienders ? Victors over the exterior ene-
mies of the state, they have come to repress our inter-
nal enemies; and preserve at home the republic

which

TliE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 85

v^hich they have caused to be respected abroad. Do
we not also see those venerable warriors who have
grown grey in the service; those whom honorable
wounds have obliged to seek premature repose, and
whose asylum is in sight? With what pleasure our
eyes feed on this interesting reunion! With w'hat
agreeable emotions we contemplate those victorious
I brows!

I Heroes who have perished for liberty, why does there
I remain to us nothing but a recollection of your services ?
I You will, however, live forever in our hearts; your
children will be dear to us ; the republic will repay to
I them the debt they owe to you ; and we discharge
here the first, by proclaiming your glory and our grat-
iitude. Republican armies, represented here, by war-
;riors from your ranks; invincible phalanxes, whose
trophies I observe on all sides, whose fresh successes
I foresee, come forward and receive the triumphal
crowns which the French people command me to at-
tach to your colours.

Address of Mr. Adet, French Ambassador, on

; PRESENTING THE CoLOURS OP FrANCE, TO THE

United States, 1796.

Mr. President,

I COME to acquit myself of a duty very dear to my
heart. I come to deposit in your hands, and in the
midst of a people justly renowned for their courage,
and their love of liberty, the symbol of the triumph and
the enfranchisement of my nation.
. When she broke her chain ; when she proclaimed
1 the imprescriptible rights of man ; when, in a terrible
war, she sealed with her blood the covenant made with
liberty, her own happiness was not alone the object of
her glorious efforts ; her views extended also to all
free people ; she saw their ittt^srests blended with her
H own,

S6 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR*

own, and doubly rejoiced in her victories, which, la
assuring to her the enjoyments of her rights, became to
them new guarantees of their independence.

These sentiments, which animated the French na-
tion, from the dawn of their revolution, have acquired
new strength since the foundation of the republic.
France, at that time, by the form of its government, as-
similated to, or rather identified with free people, saw
in them only friends and brothers. Long accustomed
to regard the American people as their most faithful
allies, she has sought to draw closer the ties already
formed in the fields of America, under the auspices of
victory over the ruins of tyranny.

The National Convention, the organs of the will of
the French Nation, have more than once expressed
their sentiments to the American people ; but above all,
these burst forth on that august day, when the Minister
of the United States presented to the National Repre-
sentation, the colours of his country, desiring never to
lose recollections as dear to Frenchmen as they must
be to Americans. The Convention ordered that these
colours should be placed in the hall of their sittrngs.
They had experienced sensations too agreeable not to
cause them to be partaken of by their allies, and de-
creed that to them the national colours should be pre-
sented.

Mr, President, I do not doubt their expectations will
be fulfilled ; and I am convinced, that every citizen will
receive, with a pleasing emotion, this flag, elsewhere
tjie terror of the enemies of liberty ; here the certain
pledge of faithful friendship ; especially when they
r^coUect that it guides to combat, men who have
shared their toils, and who were prepared for liberty,
by aiding th^m to s^cquire thqiv own.

Prksiixent

TrIE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 87

President WASIII^'GTON's Answer.

BORN, Sir, in a land of liberty ; having early
learned its value ; having engaged in a perilous
conflict to defend it ; having, in a word, devoted the
best years of my life to secure it a permanent establisJi-
ment in my own country ; my anxious recollections,
my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes are irre-
sistibly excited, whensoever, in any country, I see an
oppressed nation unfurl the banners of freedom. But
above all, the events of the French revolution have pro-
duced the deepest solicitude, as well as the highest
admiration. To call your nation }>rave, were to }>ro-
nounce but common praise. WONDERFUL PEO-
PLE ! ages to come will read with astonishment the
history of your brilliant exploits.

I rejoice that the period of your toils and of your
immense sacrifices is appro&ohing. I ivj^ice tiiai iivff
interesting revolutionary movements of so many years
have issued in the formation of a constitution designed
to give permanency to the great object for which you
have contended. I rejoice that liberty, which you
have so long embraced with enthusiasm; liberty, of
which you have been the invincible defenders, now
finds an asylum in 'the bo;^om of a regularly organized
government : a government, which, being formed to
secure the happiness of the French people, corresponds
with the ardent wishes of my heart, while it gratifies
the pride of every citizen of the United States, by its
resemblance of their own. On these glorious events,
accept. Sir, my sincere congratulations.

In delivering to you these sentiments, I express not
my own feelings only, but those of my fellow-citizens,
in relation to the commencement, the progress, and the
issue^ of the French revolution ; and they will cordi-
ally join with me in purest wishes to the Supreme Be-
i ing, that the ciiizens of our sister republic, our mag-
nanimous

C8 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

nanimous allies, may soon enjoy, in peace, that libertjr,!
which they have purchased at so great a price, and all
ihe happiness which liberty can bestow.

I receive, Sir, with lively sensibility, the symbol o£j
the triumphs and of the enfranchisements of your na-
tion, the colours of France, which you have now pre-
sented to the United States. The transaction will be
announced to Congress ; and the colours will be depos-
ited with those archives of the United States, which^
are at once the evidences and the caemorials of their
freedom and independence. May these be perpetual ;
and may the friendship of the two republics be com-
mensurate with their existence.

I

The Oppressive Landlord.

Enter Don Philip and Wife.
r» nL-7- 17t7ELTi, my dear, I have warned all

non Philip, y y ^^^ ^^^^^j.^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^ ^ ^^^^^

of buildings, and ordered them to pay double the rent
they have done, for every day they remain. From
every new tenant I am determined to have three times
the sum. The present rent will never do in these times.
Our children will become beggars at this rate ; and you
and I shall have to betake ourselves to hand labour,
like the common herd, to earn our daily bread.

Wife, Bat I fear that some of our tenants are too
poor to endure a rent, double to what they now pay ;
and I am certain it will be impossible for them all to
remove, on account of the scarcity of houses to be ob-
tained.

Don P. That is not my look out. It is enough for
me to attend to my own interest, not theirs.

Wife, But you will exercise a litde lenity towards
them, at this distressing time. 1 am persuaded, my
dear, that you will not turn them into the street. Be-
sides, it is thought by some, that they already pay ''
reasonable rent.

Don P.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 39

"Don P, I have nothing to do with lenity. Woman,
would you not have your husband be looking out ai^ainst
a rainy day ? What would become of you, and your
children, if I were to spend my time in studying /e/nVy,
instead of my interest-table ? I tell you, that now is the
harvest time, and I am determined to thrust in the sic-
kle, and reap my proportion of the crop, before the sea-
son's over. The town is crowded with foreigners who
are exiled from their homes, and necessity obliges them
to pay whatever price is demanded, for a shelter tQ
cover their heads.

Wife, Would you then profit by the necessities and
misfortunes of your fellow creatures ? These exiles are
entitled to our compassion, instead of experiencing our
oppression.

Don P, You talk like a poor weak woman. Did 1
not tell you that I had nothing to do with other peo-
ple's good or ill fortune ? It is more than I can do to
take care of my own dependants. We should make
fine way ahead, if you were at helm. I believe in my
conscience, that, if you possessed the keys of the strong
box, you would squander away to the full amount of
a pistareen a week upon these poor starving runaways'.
I have not yet forgotten how you lavished a whole gali
Ion of cider upon those three miserable wTCtches that
cleared out our well, the day before thanksgiving.
Does this look like taking a prudent care of your fam-
ily ? Pray how do you read your Bible ? Has not
Nebuchadnezzar said, that '' He, who provides not for
his own household, has denied the faith, and is worse
than an infidel ?"

Wife, If you had studied your Bible as faithfully
as you have your interest-table, you would not have
put St. Paul's words into the mouth of the king of
Babylon. Does not the same scripture say, that " He
who op})resseth the poor, and "

Don P. Hush, I say ; one of my tenants approaches.
Banish your womanish feelings ; and kt not' your un*"
nily tongue betray your weakness*

H 2 Enter

90 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Enter Tenant.
Ten, Sir, I come to inform you, that I have at last
been fortunate enough to procure a shelter for my fam-
ily, though an indifferent one ; and have brought you
the rent of your tenement, which I quitted with re-
luctance yesterday.

Don P, It is well you are out ; for you would have
met with trouble, if you had remained three days longer.
I had ordered my attorney to give directions to an officer
to tumble all your goods into the street, and you and
your children after them.

Ten, Then a good Providence has preserved us.

Don P, Providence has smiled upon me, I confess,
in granting me such a riddance.

Ten. I contead not with an adversary who is man-
tled in gold. Will you please- to count your money,
and give me a discharge ?.

Don P, l^Cowits the money, '\ Why, man, the sum is
deficient ; I cannot receipt it.

Ten, It is the same. Sir, as I paid the last term.

Don P, That is very true ; but did I not double the
rent three days ago ?

Ten, You did, indeed; but my reply was, that I
was utterly unable to pay a higher price ; and as the
time was so short,. I thought you would not stand for
trifles.

Don P, Trifles! If you were to receive it, I believe
you would not call- it a trifle ; neither do I. I demand
the utmost farthing*

Ten, For the sake of peace, though I think your de-
mand unjust, I will take your receipt for this, and
bring the remainder to-morrow.

Don P, Not a cent will I receive without the whok,
lest by some quibble of the law I lose the rest.

Ten, Your avaricious disposition leads you to act
contrary to your own interest.

Don P. I shall not apply to you for lessons of in-j
struction. I shall conduct my own aflairs according t(
my sovereign will and pleasure. Let me teil you, Sir,

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. SI

this impudence does not well become a man of yoili'
circumstances.

Ten, " Sir, your honored father never used me
thus." Alas! he little thought in what oppressi\7e
hands he leftvhis large estate. Could he be permit-
ted to revisit the earth, his ghost would haunt your guilty
soul ; and, if you have any conscience left, harrow up
remorse, and awaken you to repentance.
. Don P, I did not admit a tenant into my house to
hear a moral lecture from him.

Ten, If you will take your money, I will quit your
house with pleasure. Bui before we part, give me leave
to tell you, that, though your great wealth has exalted
you above yourself, and, in your own opinon, placed
you beyond the reach of poverty, the time 7nai/ come
when you will feel what oppression is.

Iflfe, I entreat you to receive the money , and be
content.

Don P, A woman, who can't be silent in her hus-
band's presence, especially when he is negociating im-
portant business, may take a modest hint to leave the
room. [Exit Wife.

Ten. If you are resolved not to receive your money,
I must carry it home again. And I hope the time is
not far distant, when I shall be out of tlie reach of your
oppressive hands. [Exit,

Don P. [Solus,'] Every man I deal with is trying
to cheat me. Mankind are by nature all knaves. I
am afraid to trust even my best friends. What an af-
fliction it is to have property ! The poor always think
that the rich are bound to maintain them, and are
never satisfied with what is done for them. My ten-
ants would be glad to live in my houses rent keQ if
they could. This, I am persuaded, they learned of
my father ; but I'll soon teach them to expect different
things. Rather than matters should go on at such
loose ends, I'll sell every one of my buildings, and put
the money in bank. My mind is constantly on the
stretch to contrive ways and means to preserve what

little

9-2 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

little I possess. It is well my father left his property
to me. Had he left it to one of only common under-
standing, these plotting tenants would have run away
with the whole of it.

Enter second Tenant.

2 J. Tenant, Sir, I appear before you to crave your^
compassion. I am the most unfortunate of all your
tenants. My misfr.rtune is, to be obliged to remain
in your house, after it is your pleasure that I should |
leave it. V

Don P. To-morrow I will cure you of your misfor- -
tune ; for if you cannot get out yourself, I will help ^%
you out. 1^

2d. Ten, Why may I not remain ? It may be for a
your interest as well as miner I have ever made you I
punctual payment ; and stand ready now to give as 1
much as any other man, or as much as your conscience
will suffer you to demand.

Don P. My will and pleasure is, that you depart
immediately. My reasons for my conduct 1 give to no
man. i

^d. Ten. But, Sir, I have a claim upon your mercy- I
You are not insensible of the pains, I've taken to accom- 1
plish what you wish. Necessity is the only reason why \
I ask this favour. One special reason why you ought to
grant it is, that I am now in your service with the same
salary as in y^ars past ; when your good father was
satisfied with one fourth the sum his craving son de*
mands. I have been, you must allow, a faithful slave
to your children. They have long received, and still
receive my best instruction, without an augmentation,
of reward. If you v»'ill not hear the plea of mercy,
grant me justice. If you increase your price of rent,
increase my pay.

Don P. I meddle not with your affairs. Look out
for your pay among your employers. I am but one*
among many, and promise you that I shall not be fore-
most to enhance the price of instruction, while childrervj
are so numerous. My houses are my own*. I boughtj

them.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. »3

: them with my own money ; and shall dispose of them
at my own pleasure.

2f/. Ten. You speak as though you were lord of the
creation, and had the world at ycur command.

Don P. I am lord of my own possessions ; and shall
not ask my tenants how I am to dispose of them.

2d, Ten. Did you ever read, that " Riches take to
tjhemselves wings, and ily away ?"
' Don P. I am not apprehensive that any wrings ar^
attached to my property.

2cL 2\n. Your mountain may not stand so strong as
you think it does. The cries of the fatherless and the
widow, who have groaned under your oppression, have
reached the heavens, and you have reason to fear they
will be answered with vengeance on your head. Did
you but believe in a future day of retribution, as you
have impiously professed, you would seriously engage in
the work of repentance and reformation : which, let
me tell you, it is presumption to neglect.

. Re-enter first Tenant laith a Law'YER.

\st. Ten. I pray you to accept your money, and
give me a discharge.

Don P. I told you, not a cent, till the whole amount
y was paid.

' Laiu. That is sufficient. The low allows no force
in paying debts. Every creditor has an undoubted
right to refuse his money, when offered by his debtor..
This he has done before witness. I now declare it
forfeit. Keep it as your own.

Don P. Rogues will always combine against honest
men. The whole world are endeavouring to cheat
me out of my lawful earnings. My best friends have
become my worst enemies.

Law. Y'ou have no friends ; nor will you ever have,.

I long as you make an idol of your own dear self.

Don, P. My property is my best friend, and one
which I trust will never forsake me.

[Cry of fire without,.
Enter

94 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Enter Servant in haste,

Ser. Sir, your long row of buildings is all in flames !

Don P. Impossible ! — They were all to be insured
to-morrow.

Ser, It is seriously true ! and the roofs are now
tumbling to the ground !

Don P, Then immediately call all hands, and put
fire to this, and every other building I possess ; that
they may all go to destruction together.

2d. Ten, That looks something like giving wings to
your riches.

Don P, If I had had one thimble full of brains, I
should have got them insured before. O horrible ca-
tastrophe ! Not only wicked men and devils, but even
the elements themselves have turned against me.

Law. Compose yourself, dear Sir. Your best friend
won't be so cruel as to forsake you, at this critical mo
men-t.

Don P, Is my money safe ? If that is burnt, I'll
burn myself. Oh that I had permitted my tenants ta
remain, that they and their property might all have
perished in the flames together !

Lord Mansfield's Speech, in SuppoRt or a Bill

FOR PREVENTING DeLAYS OF JuSTICE, BY ReASON

OF Privilege op Parliament, 1770.

■■ - ■ ■ ■ ' ... II I I III H MM .1111 * III

My Lords,

I HAVE waited with patience to hear what argu-
ments might be urged against the bill ; but I have
waited in vain ; the truth is, there is no argument that
can weigh against it. The justice and expediency of
the bill are such as render it self-evident. It is a propo-
sition of that nature, that can neither be weakened by
argument, nor entangled with sophistry.

We all knovr, that the very soul and essence of trade
are regular payments ; and sad experience teaches us

tha

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 95

that there are men, who will not make their regular
payments without the compulsive power of the laws.
The law then ought to be equally open to all. Any
exemption to particular men, or particular ranks of
men, is, in a free and commercial country, a solecism
of the grossest nature.

. I will not trouble your lordships with arguments for
diat which is sufficiently evident without any. I shall
only say a few words to some noble lords, who fore-
see much inconveniency from the persons of their ser-
vants being liable to be arrested. One noble lord ob-
serves, that the coachman of a peer may be arrested
while he is driving his master to the House ; and, con-
sequently, he will not be able to attend his duty in
Parliament. If this were actually to happen, there are
so many ways by which the member might still get to
the House, that I can hardly think the noble lord is se-
rious in his objection. Another noble peer said, that
by this bill we might lose our most valuable and honest
servants. This 1 hold to be a contradiction in terms :
for he can neither be a valuable servant, nor an honest
man, who gets into debt which he is neither able nor
willing to pay, till compelled by law.

If my servant, by unforeseen accidents, has run into
debt, and I still wish to retain him, I certainly would
pay the debt. But upon no principle of liberal legis-
lation whatever, can my servant have a title to set his
creditors at defiance, while for forty shillings only, the
honest tradesman maybe torn from his family, and
locked up in a jail. It is monstrous injustice ! I flat-
ter myself, however, the determination of this day will
entirely put an end to all such partial proceedincrs for
the future, by passing into a law the bill now under
your lordships' consideration.

I come now to speak, upon what, indeed, I would
have gladly avoided, had I not been particularly point-
ed at for the part I have taken in this bill. It has
been said by a noble lord on my left hand, that I like-
wise am running the race of popularity. If the noble

lord

% THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

lord means by popularity, that applause bestowed by
after-ages on good and virtuous actions, I have long
been struggling in that race. But if he mean that
mushroom popularity, which is raised without merit and
lost without a crime, he much mistakes in his opinion.

I defy the noble lord to point out a single action of
my life, where the popularity of the times ever had
the smallest influence on my determinations. I have a
more permanent and steady rule for my conduct, the
dictates of my own breast. Those who have forgone
that pleasing adviser, and given up their mind to be the
slave of every popular impulse, I sincerely pity. ^ I
pity them still more, if their vanity leads diem to mis-
take the shouts of a mob for die trumpet of fame. Ex-
perience might inform them, that many who have been
saluted with the huzzas of a crowd, one day, have
received their execrations the next ; and many, who,
by the popularity of their times, have been held up as
spodess patriots,' have, nevertheless, appeared upon the
historian's page, when truth has triumphed over deluf
sion, the assassins of liberty.

Why then the noble lord can think I am ambitious
of present popularity, that echo of folly, and shadow of
renown, I am at a loss to determine. Besides, I do
not knov/ that the bill now before your lordships will ,
be popular. It depends much upon the caprice of the
day. It may not be popular to compel people to pay
their debts ; and, in that case^ the present must be a
very unpopular bill. It may not be popular neither
to take away any of the privileges of parliament : for
I very well remember, and many of your lordships
may remember, that not long ago the popular cry was
for the extension of privilege ; and so far did they
carry it at that time, that it was said that the privilege-
protected members even in criminal actions. Nay, such
was the power of popular prejudices over weak minds,
that the very decisions of some of tb^ courts were tinc-
tured with that doctrine.

It

i

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 97

It was undoubtedly an abominable doctrine. I
tliought so then, and think so still : but novertheless,
it was a popular doctrine, and came immeaialoly irom
those who were .called the friends of liberty ; how de-
servedly, time will show. True liberty, in rny opi i-
ion, can only exist when justice is equally administcreJ
to ail ; to the king, and lo the beggar. Where is the
justice, then, or where is the law, that ^.roiccts a mem-
ber of parliament more than any other man, from the
punishment due to his crimes ? The laws of t]}i3 coun-
try allow of no place, nor any employment, to be a
sanctuary for crimes ; and where I have the honor to
sit as judge, neither royal favour, nor popular applause
shall ever protect the guilty.

Extract from a Sermon on the Day of Judgment*

LET us endeavour to realize the majesty and terror
of the universal alarm on the final Judgment Day.
When the dead are sleeping in the silent grave ; when \
the living are thoughdess and unapprehensive of the *
grand event, or intent on other pursuits ; some of them
asleep in the dead of night ; some 6f them dissolved in
sensual pleasures, eating and drinking, marrying and
giving in marriage ; some of them planning or execu-
ting schemes for riches or honors ; some in the very |
act of sin ; the generality stupid and careless about J
the concerns of eternity, and the dreadful day just at 1
hand ; and a few here and there conversing with their
God, and looking for the glorious appearance of their
Lord and Saviour; when the course of nature runs. on
uniform and regular as usual, and infidel scoffers.are'
taking umbrage from thence to ask, *' Where is. th^'
promise of his coming ?" In short, when there are no
more visible appearances of this approaching day, than
of the destruction of Sodom, on that clear morning in
which Lot fled away ; or of the deluge, when Noah en-

I ter^d

I

93 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

tered into die ark : ihcn, in that liour of unapprehensive
security, then suddenly shall the heavens open over the
astonished world; then shall the alarming clangor break.
over their heads like a clap of thunder in a clear sky.
Immediately the living turn their ga-zing eyes upon
the amazing phenomenon: some hear the Iong.»A-
pected sound with rapture, and lift up their heads with^
joy, assured that the day of their redemption is conie ;
w^hile the thoughdcss world arc struck with the wild- |
est horror and consternation. In the same instant the
sound reaches all the mansions of the dead ; and in^a ;
moment, in the twinkling of an eye, they are raised,
and the living are changed. This call will be as ani-
mating to all the sons bf men, as that call to a single
person, *' Lazarus, come forth." O what a surprise
will this be to the thoughtless world ! Should this alarm
burst over our heads this moment, into what a terror
would it strike many in this assenibly ? Such will be
the terror, such the consternation, when it actually
comes to pass. Sinners will bedae same timorous, seU-
condemned creatures then as diey are now. And then
they will not be able to stop their ears, >who are deaf to
all the gentler calls of t]i3 gospel now.

Then the trump of God will constrain them to hear
and fear, to whom the ministers of Christ now preach
in vain. Then they must all hear ; for, " all that
are in their graves," all without exception, " shall
hear his voice." Now the voice of mercy calls, reason
pleads, conscience war-ns ; but multitudes will not hear.
But this is a voice which shall, which must reach every
one of the millions of mankind, and not one of them will
be able to stop his ears, infants and giants, kings and
subjects, all ranks, all a^es of mankind shall hear the
call. The living shall start and be changed, and the
dead rise at the sound. The dust that was once Slivc
and formed a human body, whether it Qies in the an-,
floats in the ocean, or vegetates on earth, shall hear
the new-creating fiat. Wherever the fragments oi
the human frame are scattered, this all penetrating ca

Siia;

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 99

shall reacii and ^pcak thorn into life. We iiiay con-
sider this voice as a summons not only to dead bodies
to rise, but to the souls that once animated them, to ap-
pear and be re-united to them.

This summons shall spread through every corner of
the universe; and Heaven, Earth, and Hell, and al!
their inhabitants, shall hear and obev. Now mcthinks
I see, I hear the earth heaving, charnel houses rattling,
tombs bursting, graves opening. Now the nations' un-
der ground begm to stir. There is a noise and a sha-
king among the dry bones. The dust is all aHve, and
m motion, and the globe breaks and trembles, as wiili
an earthquake, while this vast army is working its way
through, and bursting into life. The ruins of human
bodies are scattered far and wide, and have passed
through many, and surprising transformations. A limb
in one country, and another in another ; here the head,
and there the trunk ; and the ocean rolling between.

And now, at the sound of the trumpet, they shall all
be collected, wherever they were scattered ; all prop-
erly sorted and united, however' they were confused ;
atom to Its fellow atom, bone to its fellow bone. Now
methinks you may seethe air darkened with fragments
of bouics, fl3Mng from country to countrv, to meet and
join their proper parts :

" Scatter'd limbs and all

The various boiK?s obsequious to the call,
Self-mov'd, advance ; the neck perhaps to meet
The distant head, the distant legs, the kct.
Dreadful to view, see throuirh the dusky sky
Fragments of bodies in confusion fly,
To distant regions journeying, there to claim
JJeserted members, and complete the frame
The severd head and trunk shall join once more,
Ihough realms now rise between, and oceans roan
1 he trumpet's sound each vagrant mote shall hear,
Ur hxW in earth, or if afloat in air.
Obey the signal, wafted in the wind,
A'k] not one sleeping e-tom lag behind."

Christ

100 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR,

Christ TRiujiPHANT over the apostate Angels.

SO spake the Son, and into teiTor chang'd
His count'nance, too severe to be beheld ;
And full of wrath bent on his enemies.
At once the Foiii' spread out their starry wings
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs
Of his fierce chariot rolPd, as with the sound
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host.
Mc on his impious foes right onv/ard drove,
tUioomy as night ; under his burning wheels
The stedfast empyrean shook throughout,
All but the throne itself of God. Full «ooni
Ariiong them he arriv'd, in his right hand
C rasping ten thousand thunders, which he seiii
Before him, such as in their souls infix'd
Plagues; they, astonish'd, all resistance lost,
All courage; down their idle weapons dropt ;
O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads, he rode,
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate,
That wish'd the mountains now might be again
Thrown on them as a shelter from his ire.
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell
His arrows, from the fourfold-visag'd Four
Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels
Distinct alike -with multitude of eyes;
One spirit in them rul'd, and ev'ry eye
Giar'd lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire
Among the accurs'd, that withered all their strengtli,
And of their v/onted vigour left them drain'd,
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, falPn.
\'et half his strength he put not forth, but check'd
His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant
Not to destroy, but root them out of Heav'n.
The overthrown he rais'd, and as a herd
Of goats or tim'rous fiock together throng'd,
Drove them before him thunderstj:uck, pursued

THE COLUMTJIAN ORATOR, 101

With terrors and with furies to the bounds
And crystal wall of Hcav'n, which, opening wide,
RolPd inward, and a Spacious gap discios'd
Into the wasteful deep ; the monstrous sight
Struck them with horror backward, but far worse
UrgM them behind ; headlong themselves they threw
Down from the verge of Heav'n ^ eternal wrath
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.

Hell heard th' unsufferable noise ; Hell saw
Heav'n ruining from Heav'n, and would have fled
Affrighted ! but strict fate had cast too deep
Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound.
Nine days they fell ; confounded Chaos roar'd
And felt tenfold confusion in their fall :
Through his wild anarchy, so huge a rout
Inciunber'd him with ruin. Hell at last
Yawning receiv'd them whole, and on them clos'd }
Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire
Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.

Disburden'd Heav'n rejoic'd, and soon repair'd
Her mural breach, returning whence it roll'd.
Sole victor from the expulsion of his foes,
Messiah his triumphal chariot turn'd :
To meet him all his saints, who silent stood
Eye-v/itnesses of his almighty acts,
With jubilee advanc'd ; and as they went,
Shaded with branching palm, each order bright,
Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King,
Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion given
Worthiest to reign. He, celebrated, rode
Triumphant through mid Heav'n, into the courts
And temple of his mighty Father, thron'd
On high; who into glory him receiv'd,
Where now he sits at the right hand of bliS5*
13

Slaa^SS

/ io

1.02 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Slaves in Barbary.
A Drama in two Acts.

I

Persons of the Drama.
Hamet, Bashaw of Tunis, .1

. '' ' > Brothers, and Slaves r: Tunis, \ I

AmANDAR, 5 . :

Francisco, Brother to Ozro and Amandar^ sent to re*
Kidnap, An,.Jhnericmi Captive. {^decm them^

Gran, A Purchaser of Slaves,

GoaTOK, I Sea Captains.

Teague, An Irish Captive,

Sharp, An African, and Kidnap'S Slave, ; *

Officer, Auclioneer, Guards, Attendants, Purchasers ci

Slaves, ii'c, *

ACT L— Scene I.
A Garden,
Amandar solus, conjxiud zuith a chain,
N vain the flowens spread their eaudy coFours, and
fill the air with fragrance. The sun has not a
cheering beam for mfe. AW nature's smiles are frowns
•o him, who wears the chain of bondage. Fifteen
long months have Vvitnessed my misfortune : what
lackiess winds delay Francisco's passage ?
Enter Gran with a cant,
Oran, Moping fugitive ! quick to your task. [Beat
ing him.'] I have not placed you here to mutter t
thc herbs and flowers : they need the labour of youi
hands. Let them have it.; or hQavier blows shall pun«
ish your neglect.

Aman, Then do your worst ! I ask tlie fatal blo'
o put a period to my miseries.

07'an, Your life is in my hands ; but it shall be prO)
ibnged; and with your life, PR lengthei) out. youJ
jn!se]-ic«.. Armri^,

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. lOS

- Aman. Unfeeling tyrant ! from you 1 only ask the
murderer's office. Speech was designed for friendly
intercourse ; it ill becomes the tiger. In brutal silence,
you may tear my flesh : add not the sting of words.

Enter OzRO.

Oran, Ilah ! Ozro. A slave enlarged is no grate-
ful sight to his old master. \_Jiiide.
i Ozro. I com.e, my brother, to end your sufferings.
gt^. Aman, Welcome ! You know them to be more than
man can bear.

Oran» Vile intruder! are you 30 soon intoxicated
with your liberty ? Quick, flee this place ; or stronger
chains, than bound you here before, shall sober you
again.

Ozro. Talk not of chains ! but rather learn to
clread the hand, on which they have been bound. I
come to execute the orders of your lord and master ;
not to be frightened with your threats. . Amandar's
injuries have reached the. ears of the Bashav* ; and I
am sent

Oran. Talc-bearing renegade ! Well, I shall leara
to husband my own property, and give up no more
•slaves for Hamet's counsellors ► Attend your duty !

[To Amanddi- , striking him.

Ozro. Repeat that blow, and it shall cost you dear.

Oran. Caitiff! begone, from hence; or even the.
Bashav/ shall not defend you from my indignation..
Quick, leave my sight !

Ozro. Not while you have it in your power to ex-
ercise your tyramiy over my brother. But yesterday,
you promised to sell Amandar for this sum : here it is,
ready counted to your Lands. I demand him of you.

Oran, One half this sum would have bought him
yesterday. Ix is my present choice to sacrifice my
property for my revenge. I v/ill double his task and
shorten his allowance, till his pride is reduced, and h6
becomes more profitable, by additional severity. This
is my promise to-day ; take it for your solace.

104 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Gzro, Monster ! would you forever feast your soul
on the miseries of the unfortunate ? Your word is
passed ; recal it at the peril of your life. There is your
money. [FHnging it at his ■fid.'] Aniandar is

Gran. VVlien foreign ruiiians, who ought to wear
the chains of bondage, are armed with swords, all
right is lost: our property is given to the winds.
Were it not for what weak heads, and sickly hearts
call justice, I'd feast my dogs upon your flesh.

Oz/'o, Go rent your railings to the savage beasts,
that prey on one another. If you love the law that
sanctions cruelty, they are your lit associates. Aman-
dar, you ai-e once more restored to liberty and life.
iCuiting off his bands with his sworcL]

lExeunt Amandar and Ozro,

Oran, [JhkingMsmoneyJ] These high-bred fel-
lows make but poor slaves. 'Tis well to shift them olf
at any rate. I will take care hbw^ i lay out my money
for the future. [Exit,

Scene II.

The Highway,

Ozro and Amandar.

Aman, Am I deluded by a dream? or is this real ?
What angel eye of pity has glanced upon us ?

Ozro, 1 would not interrupt thy bliss, nor stir the,
dregs, which the fair su"cface of this draught conceals,
Bui fortune seems to make our happiness her sport.

Aman, Has not the Bashaw purchased our freedom ?
what are the conditions ?

Ozro. That is for time or wild conjecture to deter-
mine. We must deliberate what course to tal^e. •

Aman. What dost thou say ? let me hear the worst.

Ozro. You know the circumstances of my liberation.
All had the appearance of affability and pity in the Ba-
shaw. He questioned particularly concerning our sit-
uation, and seemed moved with the account I gave.
I informed him, our brother was daily expected with
the gleanings of an unfortunate father's interest to re-

- deem

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. lOo

deem as from our chains, and restm'c us to a disconso-
late family. He turned aside, as though some sudden
emotion had seized his mind; then exclaimed,
" They shall be mine !*' The money was paid for your
ransom, and committed to mc. We ai-e considered as
his property.

Aman. What then creates suspicion J This iavour
^as soiue claim upon our gratitude. If we must err,
let it be on the side of honor.

Ozro, So thought I, Amandar. These were the
impressions of the moment. But avarice often assumes
the appearance of generosity : and malice, to make_its
prey more sure, puis on the guise q( pity. If ihe Ba-
^aw's motive were our happiness, all, but my freedom,
I would pledge to pay the debt of gratitude. But I
would sooner seek the lion*s den, or trust the mercy of
a tiger, than commit myself to a mercenary Turk. A
father's fortune well may tempt the hypocritic show
®f kindness to his sons.

Aman, This thought gives weight to your suspicion.
Are our misfortunes then the object of base specula-
tion ? This well becomes the dignity of rulers ; the
konor of the prime magistrate of Tunis ! To seek us
Qut, like brutes, to buy and sell, and fill his coffers on
the ruins of our family. But sta}-. Is there no room
;for charity? Tunis, of all the states of Barbary, is
'famed for its refinement. Every Turk is not an Oran.
'I think I have heard the Bashaw noted for his humanity.

Ozro, That ruler has but an ill title to humanity,
who suffers his subjects to tratlic in the dearest rights
of man, and shares himself the execrated commerce.

Aman. True, my brother. But let us remember
our native Venice. W^ have seen the Turk sold there
in open market, and exposed to all the indignities
.which we have borne with Oran. Nay more; we
jnay come nearer home, and spread tlie blush on our
own faces. We both have heard the story of the
grateful Turk, who, by the intercession of Francisco,
was twice released fiom servitude. lie l^ad a noble

soul,

106 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

soial, a feeling heart. Though his virtues were discov-
ered, and fmaily rewarded by onr father, we may blush
that they were so long unheeded by our countrymen,
and he suffered to languish in ignominious bondage.

Ozro, Your words have weight. For the sake of
this noble captive, I will take part of my censure from
the Turks, and spare it for my countrymen. Thouiih
this was done before my memory, the story paints His
virtues to my mind ; and had I no other claim, I would
Ciall Francisco brother for this deed.

Aman, [After a pame,} Can it he ! no j 'tis too
much to think of.

Ozro. What, Amandar ?

Aman, A thought has struck my mkd. Help to
confirm, or to coiifute it.

Enter Guards ahruplly*

^ Ozro, [Drawing,'] Who is here ! Stand oif!

[Guards draztr,

1st, Guard, But look, i»y lads ! you see you are
oiitmanned. We are more than two to one.

Ozro. Then keep your distance, and let us know
your bu *ness: else, were you ten to one, Pd make
your number less.

\st. Guard, As io our business, we are obliged to '
let you know it : or I believe your swords v/ould not4
fi'ightcn us to it. It is to carry you to the Bashaw, f

Ozrg, On what' conditions must we go ?

\st. Guard, As to that, we shall not be nice. We
have no cavalry, you see ; so you must be content to
mnrch on foot. You may take the ivo^^i, or centre,
as sujts you best. But we shallnot trust you in the
rear, if you show a disposition to desert us ; and, if
you are inclined 'to be hostile, we must secure that
sword. ?^ -'•

Ozro, I ask the terms on which we are to go; as
slaves or freemen ? '

\st. Guard. We don't wish to take the trouble to
bind you. U you are not free to go, we must quicken

your

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 107

your march with the point of our swords. Our orders
are to return immediately.

Ozro, Keep us no longer in suspense. We now are
free ; and

Ist, Guard, As to that, I believe you are a little
mistaken. The Bashaw has bought you both, and paid
for you ; and we shall look better to his interest than
to lose you for nothing ^ d'ye sec ? Come ; march !

. Ozro, What is the paltry price, compared with
years of misery ? Perhaps you know our destiny. If
we're for sale again, tell him, we give the terms. This
place shall be the fair, and life the price.

1st, Guard, I tell you again, we are not easily
frighted. But I see you are afraid of getting into
Oran's hands again, If you choose to be obstinate, we
could easily slice you in pieces, and carry you on the
points of our swords. But we don't wish to spoil you
in such a manner. Besides, our master keeps no cut-
throats. Our orders were to carry you safe to the
Bashaw, and neither hurt you ourselves, nor L?t any
body else. You may wonder at this extraordinary
honor, and so do we. But he takes a liking to Chris-
tians, and is very often doing them a good turn. I
fancy something uncommon is going forward to-day
by this manoeuvre. Perhaps he is inclined to sin a
little in your own way, by drinking a few bottles of
Tvine with you.

Ozro, [To Amandar,'] Their honest frankness quite
unarms me. I hope my- suspicions have been ground-
less.

Aman, Let us trust ourselves to their care. I am
anxious to know the sequej.

Scene III.

Harrietts House,

Hamet, [Solus, ^ The grateful day returns, that
brings to mind my generous benefactors. The birth-
day

108 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

day of my happiness, my fortune, and my honor. Le^;(

it be sacred to gratitude, and devoted to the sons of i

sorrow. |

Enter Officer. ^ V

^ Officer, Noble Sir, the sale of prisoners begks in|

half an hour. Is it your pleasure to attend the auc-^

tion ? ^ '^

H(wiet, His, Have tncm upon the spot, and see

that they are treated with humanity. [Exit Officer,

Ill-fated men ! their lot is. miserable indeed; 'Twere

almost just to rise above the laws, and give them all

their freedom. [^^"^'^ Hamet.

Scene IV.

The street in Tunis.
Enter Cri-eu, ringing his hell.
At half an hour from this time ! will be sold at
public auction ! to the highest bidder ! prisoners of
all colours ! sorts and sizes ! lately captured ! on the
Mediterranean ! and brought fresh into port ! warrant
ed free from sickness, and wounds ! also, a considera.
ble number! a litde damaged! by musket shot!
and cannon balls ! and careless handling, with lon|
knives and broad swords ! and for want of wholesome
Tilr ! on easy terms for the purchaser. [Exit One

'\

ACT II.

\

Scene I.
Oran walking to the Fair,
Oran, [Solus,] Yes, he who frees a slave, arms an
assassin. The Bashaw may learn this to his sorrow. Lf
him look to that. He has given a high price for stocl
that I should have been glad to turn upon his hand?
The money will purchase tv/o for one. Gorton's an<
Zanga's freight of prisoners will almost glut the mai'

lie'

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 1©0

ket. The Bashaw may be as ostentatious as he pleases
of his boyish pity: thank fortune, I am not so tender-
hearted. No : dominion is the right of man. The
love of power is planted in his nature. But all men
can't be kings. If there are lords, there must be slaves.
And what must be is right. Let moralizers murmur
at the doctrine : their arguments are slender threads ;
feeble as those, who spin them out from lovers' dreams,
and children's notions. What is justice without power ?
The slave's ideal friend; whom he would wish to
break his chains ; on whose credit, he would establish
universal government; then dissolve connexion, and
shut his partner up in prison. [Exit Oran*

ScEBfE II.

77ie fair, a large square.
Enter Officer, zoith a drawn sword; Zanga and
Gorton, with swords, followed by prisoners pin"
ioned; Sailors in the rear; Auctioneer, ^c,
Sharp, a negro, standing by Gorton,

Officer bringing forward sick and loounded,
.Auctioneer, Here, gentlemen, is a lot we shall not
differ about. For the sake of dispatch, we will put up
all the fragments together. Here are a number v.ith
broken-legs, arms, <&z;c. and a number more with mortal
wounds, that may get well, or may not. That is your
risk ; I shall not warrant them. Upwards of a dozen :
count for yourselves. Who bids ?
Enter Hamet, afid attendants ; silence observed, and all
pay him obeisance.
Sharp, Dat a man, a planter, masser Gorton.

[To Gorton,
Auct, Examine for yourselves : who bids ? ^
Oran, Four hundred sequins for the whole,
Auct, That is scarce the price of one good able-
bodied slave.

Oran, They will not do me half ihe service at pres-
ent. The greater part of them areMK)t able to cook
K . their

no THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. \

their own food ; much less to earn it. Yet they must '
be fed; or they will die on my hands, you know.
And a sick or dead slave is the very worst of dead
stock. I'll give no more. ^

Harriet, These unfortunate men are the objects of
compassion, not of unfeeling sarcasm. Raise their
price to five hundred, and charge them'to my account.
Servants, see them removed to the hospital. Let a
surgeon be employed to heal their wounds, and restore
them to health. [Prisoners bowing respectfully,'] i

[Exewit servants and prisoners^

Sharp, Dat a goo(^lanter, masser Gorton. He goo(||
to white man ; an be ne good to poor negur man too ? i

Officer bringing forward a number, M

Auct, Here are a parcel of lads of the first quality |' ■
superfine ; the sons of noblemen. Their relations will
give their weight in gold to redeem them.

\st. Purchaser, And their country, twice their
weight, rather than have them return.

Auct, Now is the time to make your fortunes*
Who bids ?

Zanga, [To G0rton,'\ These, I suppose, arc your
champions, that took shelter in the hold, with their sea^
faring brethren, the rats, when you fought them ?

Gorton, The same.

Auct, One ! two ! three ! Just going for — nothings

1st, Purchaser, Precisely what they are valued at,
at home. Yyou know, captains, these men of the femi-
nine gender, don't pass very curre/it v/ith us. You'
would do well to exchange them for ballast, or fresb
water* I Will giye you one hundred sequins a piece
for them. j

Gordon, Strike ihem off! It is cheaper buying men
than raiding them al this rate. One, two, three, four,
five^of them.' ^^^fT ^^^^ hatchway !

[I^ceutxt 1st, Purchaser and prisoners^
0-FjiL?IMLfcn^?no- forward three others.

Auct, Jlcr^t/tj^vce stout, able-bodied fellows fo
■•'ou ; well made ™ labour. Who bids ? Sharpi

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. Ill

Sharp, Dat a man my masser. [Pointing to Kidnap,

2d, Purchaser, Mere bladders filled with wine.
Our labour and climate will blast them like mushrooms.

3d, Purchaser. Let me look at their hatids ; they
are the index of the slave. A good hard hand is worth,
more than a dozen bloated cheeks and barrel bodies.
Let me see how they are put together.

[Shaking them by the shoulders.

Kidnap, Stand off! base ruffian,

[Officer strikes him.

Sharp, Dat larn you sti^ike poor negur. Me wish
he killa you ! [Aside

Kidnap, Black imp ! be silent^

Officer, This fellow is a rare piec^, I'll assure you.
Rather mettlesome at present. Discipline him freely
with a whip for several weeks, and he will be as
patient as a Dutch horse.

^Kidnap, Severe reverse ! Now, Africans, I learn to
pity you, [Asidcp

. 3d, Purchaser, What does he say ?

Officer, I fancy he wishes to be excused from
reading the new leaf we are turning over for him*
His dreams have been very much inclined to tattle,
.since he has been in prison. If I may judge from
them, he has been a wholesale dealer in slaves himself ;
and is just beginning the hard lesson of repentance.

Gorton, Is this the man, who entertained you so
agreeably in his sleep ? I should suppose he might afford
a deal of amusement when awake.

Officer, He was in a very companionable mood last
night. He must have thought himself at home : poor
man, I am almost sorry for his delusion. In his so-
cial glee, he ordered six dozen of port, gave Liberty
and Independence for a toast, sung an ode to F'reedom ;
and after fancying he had kicked over the tables, broken
all the glasses, and lay helpless on the floor, gave or-
ders, attended by a volley of oaths, to have fifty of
his slaves whipped thirty stripes each, for singing a
lilierty-safic^ in ^rho to hi^ own • and six more to be

liung

112 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

hung up by the heels for petitioning him for a draught
of milk and water, while he was revelling Avith his
drunken companions. Then waked up, and exclaimed,
O happy America ! farewell forever ! Justice I thou
hast overtaken me at last.

^uct. His dreams will be a cash article. Who bids ?

3^. Purchaser, Two hundred se<-|uins a piece, for
the three.

Hamet, Officer, forward that man ; I wish to speak
with him. [GJpxer leads Kidnap to Hamet,

From whence are you ? [7b Kidnap,

Kidnap. From North America.

Hamet, The boasted land of liberty ? ' |

Kidnap, None more so.

Hamet. Then does she realize those sceues your
iiincy paints, and which your tongue describes, when
cff its guard ?

Kidnap, Take second-handed dreams for evidenc
a-nd judge as you please of me, or my country.

Hamet, Your arrogance is evidence against you,
Stand there in silence. Bring here that African. [7*^
the Officer, [Officer leads forward Shar^

Was that man your master ?

Sharp, Yes a masser.

Hamet, Is he a kind master ? do you wish to liv4
with him ?

Sharp, No, masser planter ! he get drunk ! I:
v/hip me ! he knock a me down ! he stamp on a me
he 'will kill a me dead ! No ! no ! let a poor neg
live wid a you, masser planter ; live wid a masser o
cer ; wid a dat a man ; or any udder man, fore I go bad
America again; fore 1 live wid a masser Kidnap again;

Hamet, Fear not, honest fellow: nobody shall hurtyou.

Sharp, Tank a you, masser! bless a you, good
masser planter. [Boicing,

Hamet, [To Officer.'] Deliver this man to the highest
bidder. Let misery teach him, what he could never
learn in affluence, the lesson of humanity.

[od. Purchaser takes off Kidnap and the other two,
and returns again.^ Coinmon

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 113

Common sailors brovght forward,

Auct. Here are robust fellows for you ; reduced to
discipline ; hardened by toil ; proof against heat and
cold, wind and weather. Now is your last opportu-
n-ity. Who bids ?

4/A. Purchaser, Two hundred a piece for the whole.

5th, Purchaser, Two hundred and fifty.

Auct, Two hundred and fifty, and going. Their
bare boiies would be worth half that for skeletons*'
But they are well strung with nerves, and covered
with hardy flesh : none of your mushrooms, grown up
in the shade. Look for yourselves : they are almost
bullet proof.

Zanga, Quite, you might have said, or we should
have made riddling sieves of them.

Oran, Three hundred a piece.

Auct. Three hundred, and going. One! two!
three ! [Strikes*

Zanga. [To Oran,'} I am sorry we were obliged to
cut so many of them in pieces, before we could per-
suade them to strike. The whole crew would furnish
a fine plantation ; and you might live in the style of
I West India planter..

Officer, Follow your master. [Oran going ; slaves
following, Oran''s servants follow the slaves with whips,

Teague, [Refusing to follow.} Ship-mates, you
may do as you please, I should be glad of your dear
company ; but, by my shoul, I will enter no man's
ship by sea, or by land, till I know the conditions, and
receive a little advance pay.

Oran, Come on, my lad; or my servants shall see
to your advance pay. [Servaiit strikes him with a whip,

Teague, [Bursting his pinions, and seizing Oran^s
servant.} If this is your prompt pay, by saint Pa-
trick ! you shall have change in your own coin, my
honey ! D'ye see ! I could tear your rigging before
and aft like a hurricane. [Shaking him. Officer at-
tempts to strike him with his sword ^ other servants^
toith their whips,

K 9 Hamet,

114 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Harriet, Forbear ! his honest indignation is the
effusion of hv.n^ianity. Let him speak for himself.
There is something in this ingenuous tar, that moves
me to do him a kindness. * [Aside»

Teague, I think, an't please your honor, a poor
sailor has a hard time enough on't to encounter wind
and weather, hunger and thirst, and all the other
dangers of the main sea ; and when rain and storms
have frowned on him for several months, he ought to
find a little sunshine in every man's face ; and not be
bought and sold like dumb beasts in the market. I
believe in my shoul, if one were to get rich in a Chris-
tian country by such a vile trade, the judgments of
Heaven would keep him poor as long as he lived. Ah,
and if men were made to be slaves and masters, why
was not one man born with a whip in his hand and
gold spoon in his mouth ; and another, with a chain
on his arm, or a fetter to his heel; aye, and without
a tongue, or a pair of jaws, so long as one must not
be allowed to use them ? And if I had known I were
to live a dog's life in this hard-hearted country, as I
am a Christian, I would have fought yc till I died.
But look ye ! all hands upon deck ; this muckle arm
of mine is free ; and by the blood of my heart, it shall
be torn from my body, before I will be bound once
more, it shall.

Ora72* I must leave that unmanageable creature
ivith you, Zanga ; I have had too much to do with
Such fellows already.

Ha.nef, Trust him with me. His are the inborn
virtues I admire : virtues, that ought to make the ty-
rant blush before him, and find him friends, wherever,
there are men.

Teague, On my honest word, I am your honor's
good friend and servant, so long as I live, let the
w^inds blow as they will. Yes, I will be any man's
good friend and faithful servant, that Yfill secure mM
liberty in the mean tim^, I wiU. ■

Met,

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 115

Auct. Here is this honest negro lad, who has been
under the benevolent instruction of a task-master, and
converted to Christianity by lectures applied to the na-
ked back with a rope's end, or nine-tail whip. lie is
bred to his business ; you will find him an excellent
purchase j and he can lose riothing by exchange of
masters. Who bids ?

bth. Purchaser, Three hundred sequins.
■ Sd, Purchaser,' Four hundred.

Officer, Follow that man ; he is your master.

[To Sharp,

Sharp, Yes a masscr. [Boivijig to his new master,

5th, Purchaser, You give too much. You will raise
the price of slaves above their profit.

Sd, Purchaser, I have my reasons. He is trained
to his business : I intend to put his old master under
his instruction, that he may occasionally have the ad-
vantage of a whip-lecture from his fonner slave, whom
he has treated so kindly.

5th, Purchaser, Perfectly right, Sir. Every dog
must have his day. [Exeunt 3d. PurcJuiser and Sharp,

Zanga, [Leading forward Francisco,^ This man has
eost me dear ; he must command a price accordingly,

Juct, Here is the last purchase : who bids ?

5th, Purchaser, "What extraordinary things can this
fellow do ?

Zanga, He can clip off men's heads and arms with
an micommon slight of hand. Had it not been for his
dexterity at this art, and his loud acclamations to his
crew, I should not have been repulsed three times from
their deck, with the loss of half my men.

5th, Purchaser, This is your misfortune ; not ouTSt.
Men in your way must run the risk of losing an arm
and even a head once in a while. Courage is a very
good,irecommendation for a sailor, or soldier ; but for
a slave, I would give as much for one of your faint-
hearted cowards, that you find hid in the hold in time
of fiction, as for half a dozen, who will meet you with
5 pistol at your hea^.

1I« THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Auct, What, does nobody bid ?

Zanga, These are the marks of gratitude and honor
shown to us, who expose our lives to procure the
means of ease and hixury for our countrymen. My
men, whose wounds are witnesses against him, would
give a generous price to satisfy their vengeance.

Francisco, Detested ruffian ! blast not the names of
gratitude and honor with your breath. Has not my
life already been enough exposed? Then let those
men, who wear the marks my courage gave, return
me v.'ound for wound. 'Tis not enough that you pos-
sess my father's fortune ; the effects of an industrious ,
life, designed to purchase from your barbarous land, i
two darling sons ; more than his life to him ; and 1
dearer than my own to me. Their misery is not suf- |
fici-ent. Myself, the only stay of his declining years,
must be forever exiled from his sight. But I can bear
the worst that malice can invent, or tyranny inflict.
If you have pity, spare it for my father ; for my broth-
ers : they have slain none of your friends ; none of
your nation. I can endure my own misfortunes :
theirs arc insupportable.

Hamet, Magnanimous, and dutiful son ! your
virtues shall be rewarded ; and your father's sorrow
shall be turned to joy. You say you have two broth- ,
ers, whosi you came to ransom. What are their-
names ? Perhaps they now are free.

Francisco. Ozro and Amandar. _

Harriet, Your business is accomplished. They have ^
their liberty. Each minute I expect them here.
. Francisco, O kind reverse ! Francisco, thou shalt
be happy.

Hamet, Francisco! did he say? Good Heavens!
Can it be he ! [Aside.] Art thou Francisco ?

Francisco, That is my father's name. I am Fran-
cisco the younger.

Hamet, Thou art ! O my delivering angel ! Do&t
thou know thy Hamet 2

Francisco*

\

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. IH

Francisco* h cannot be t Sure Pm entranced.

[Looking earnestly at Hamet.
Hamet, Come to my arms ! lam thy friend, thy
Hamct. [Hamet rises, Frwncisco metis him pirdoned.
Francisco, Thou art the same ! the best of men.

[Embracing*
Enter OzRO and Amandar at a distance, attended by
guards. They advance slowly, looking at each other
and at Hamet, in suspense,

Hamet, [Unloosing Francisco'' s pinions,'] Off, shame-
iul bands ! These ill become thee ! Thy hands are
worthy of a sceptre. Twice thou hast freed me from
the chains of bondage. Thus I, in part, discharge
the debt. [Ozro and Amandar discover Francisco, and
run to embrace him.]
Ozro, O Francisco !

Amandar, My brother ! [They embrace each other,
Francisco, Welcome to my arms again! Bounte-
ous Heaven! thy smiles have pierced the cloud, and
changed the night to day. Next to Heaven, Hamet
deserves our thanks.

Ozro and Amandar, As first on earth he has them.
Hamet, I am the debtor. Heaven has given me a
grateful heart ; but it is to you, Francisco, I owe my
fortune and my honor, and have it in my power to
show my gratitude. Had it not been for yop, I might
till now have been a slave in Venice.

Teague, ' On my life, I would live and die here all
my days, if ^^^ the neople were like this same good
liamet/ [Aside,

Zanga, Th'^y sail o pleasantly, I must fall m with
tliem after all. (Aside,) [Takes a chest, containing the
money and jeive-s of Francisco, and carries it to him.J
Good Sir, I huv.? been brought up to the trade of fight-
ins^ ; this, you know, Sir, is not an employment to soften
one's heart. I have generally been obliged to resist
the current of compassion ; but it sets so strong upon
me now, ! will even follow its motion, as you have been
pleased to lead the way. Here is this man's money : I

give

US THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

give up my share both in that and him too ; and wish,
him and his good friends a pleasant gale upon whatever
course they may steer through life.

Harriet, This deed becomes thee, Zanga, and shall
hereafter be rewarded.

Francisco, Zanga, thou hast my thanks. Let me
anticipate the joyous hour when our aged father shall
h«ar the transactions of this day ; and express in his
name th? effusions of his grateful heart, when he shall
receive his sons from you as the author of their second
existence ; their delivery from the heavy chains of
bondage. [To Hamet,

Hamet, By untoward fortune, my father and my-
self were slaves in Venice. By your intercession I was
emancipated. I cheerfully procured the freedom of
a declining parent at the expense of my own. The
thought of relieving him from a burden, which his
tottering age was unable to support, sweetened my
toil, and made that servitude a pleasure, which other-
wise had been intolerable. But the generosity of your
family exceeded what I dared to hope. You gratui-
tously restored me to liberty a second time. This was
the morning of my prosperity, the birth-day of my
happiness. It is by your means, I have it in my power
thus to acknowledge and discharge a sacred debt, the
debt of gratitude.-

Ozro, This day more than compensates for our past
misfGrtunes..

Amandar, Henceforth we will celebrate its anni-
versary in grateful remembrance of our benefactor.

Hamet, Generous brothers, enjoy your fortune, and
let your father participate your happiness. A ship shall,
be prepared to convey you to your native land, and
restore you to your friends. Let it be remembered,
there is no luxury so exquisite as the exercise of hu-
manity, and no post 50 honorable as his, who defends
THE RIGHTS OF MAN. [Exeunt omnes.

Conclusion

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 119

Conclusion of a celebrated Speech of Mr. Pitt,
IN 1770, IN Support of a Motion made in Par-
liament, TO request the King to lay before
THAT Body all the Papers, relative to cer^
tain Depredations of the Spaniards, and
likewise, to a Treaty which he was then ne*
gociating with spain.

My Lords,

I HAVE taken a wide circuit, and trespassed, I feafj
too long upon your patience. Yet I cannot con-
clude without endeavouring to bring home your
thoughts to an object more immediately interesting to
us, than any I have yet considered : I mean the in-
ternal condition of this country. We may look abroad
for wealth, or triumphs, oi* luxury ; but England,
my lords, is the main stay, the last resort of the
whole empire. To this point, every scheme of policy,
whether foreign or domestic, should ultimately refer.

Have any measures been taken to satisfy, or to
unite the people ? Are the grievances they have so
long complained of removed ? or do they stand not
only unredressed, but aggravated ? Is the right of free
election restored to the elective body f My lords, I
myself am one of the people. I esteem that security
and independence, which is the original birthright of
an Englishman, far beyond the privileges, however
splendid, which are annexed to the peerage. I my-
self am by birth an English elector, and join with
the freeholders of England as in a common cause.
i3elieve me, my lords, we mistake our real interest as
much as our duty, when we separate ourselves from
the mass of the people,

, Csm it be expected that Englishmen will unite heart-
ily in defence of a government, by which they feel them-
selves insulted and oppressed ? Restore them to their

. rights ;

120 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

rights ; that is the true way to make them unanimous.
It is not a ceremonious recommenclatioii from the thi:one,
that can bringback peace and harmony to a discontent-
ed people. That insipid annual opiate has been ad-
ministered so long, that it has lost its effect. Some-
thing substantial, something effectual must be done.

The public- credit of the nation stands next in degree
to the rights of the constitution; it calls loudly for the^
interposition of Parliament. There is a set of nien,l
my lords, in the cit^ of London, who are known to
live in riot and luxury, upon the plunder of the igno-
rant, the innocent, the helpless ; upon that part of the
community, which stands most in need of, and best de-
serves the care and protection of the legislature. To
me, my lords, whether they be miserable jobbers
of Exchange Alley, or the lofty Asiatic plunderers of
Leadenhall-street, they are all equally detestable. I
care but little whether a man walks on foot. Or is
drawn by eight or six horses. If his luxury be sup-
ported by the plunder of his country, I despise and
detest him.

My lords, while I had the honor Of serving his Maj-
esty, I never ventured to look at the treasury but at |
a distance ; it is a business I am unfit for, and to which*
I never could have submitted. The little I know of
it has not served to raise my opinion of what is vul-l
garly called the monied interest ; I mean that blood^*
sucker, that muckworm, which calls itself the frienctt
of government : that pretends to serve this or that ad->
ministration, and may be purchased, on the same terms,
by any administration ; that advances money to gov-
ernment, and takes special care of its own emolunients*
I hope, my lords, that nothing I have said will be
understood to extend to the honest, industrious trades-
man, who holds the middle rank, and has given re-
peated proofs, that he prefers law and liberty to gold.
I love that class of men. Much less would I be thought
to reflect upon the fair merchant, whose liberal com-
merce

TIJE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. l!21

luerce is the prime source of national wealth. I esteem
his occupation, and respect his character.

My lords, if the general representation, which I
have had the honor to lay before you, of the situation
of public affairs, has in any measure engaged your at-
tention, your lordships, I am sure, will agree with me,
that the season calls for more than common prudence
and vigour in the direction of your councils. The dif-
ficulty of the crisis demands a wise, a firm, and a pop-
ular administration. The dishonorable traffic of pieces
has engaged us too long. Upon this subject, my lords,
I speak without interest or enmity. I have no personal
objection to any of the king's servants. I shall never
be minister; certainly, not without full power to cut
away all the rotten branches of government. Yet, un-
concerned as I truly am for myself, I cannot avoid see-
ing some capital errors in the distribution of the royal
favour.

I know I shall be accused of attempting to revive
distinctions. My lords, if it were possible, T would
abolish all distinctions. I would not wish the favours
of the crown to ilow invariably in one channel. But
there are some distinctions which are inherent in the
j}ature of things. There is a distinction between right
and wrcrng ; between whig and tory.

When I speak of an administration, such as the ne-
cessity of the season calls for, my views are large and
comprehensive, ft must be popular, that it may begin
with reputation. It must be strong within itself, that it
may proceed with vigour and decision. An adminis-
tration, formed upon an exclusive system of family con-
nexions, or private friendships, cannot, I am convinced,
be long supported in this country.

I shall trouble your lordships with but a few words
more. His Majesty tells us in his speech, that he will
c^Uupon us for our advice, if it should be necessary in
the farther progress of this affair. It is not easy to say
whether or not the ministry are serious in this decla-
ration ; nor what is meant by the progress of an affair,
L which

122 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

\

which rests upon one fixed point. Hitherto we have|
not been called upon. But though wc are not consulted^ |'
it is our right and duty, as the king's great hereditary "
council, to offer him our advice. The papers, men-
tioned in the noble Duke's motion, will enable us to
form a just and accurate opinion of the conduct of his
Majesty's servants, though not of the actual state of
their honorable negociations.

The ministry, too, seem to .want advice upon some
points, in which their own safety is immediately con-
cerned. They are now balancing between a war,
which they ought to have foreseen, but for which
they have made no provision, and an ignominious com-
promise. Let me warn them of their danger. If they
are forced into a war, they stand it at the hazard of
their heads. If, by an ignominious compromise, they
should stain the honor of the crown, or sacrifice the
rights of the people, let them look to their consciences,
and consider whether th.ey will be able to ^valk the
streets in safety.

Socrates' Defence before his Accusers and
Judges.

I AM accused, of corrupting the youth, and of instill-
ing dangerous principles into them,, as well in re-
gard to the worship of the gods, as the rulers of gov-
ernment. Yau know, Athenians, I never made it my
profession to teach ; nor can envy, however violent
against me, reproach tne with having ever sold my in-
structions. I have an \mdeniable evidence for me in
this respect, which is my poverty. Always equally
ready to communicate my thoughts either to the rich
or poor, and. to give them entire leisure to question or
ar^swer me, I lend myself to every one who is desirous
of becoming virtupua; and if amongst those who hear
me, there are any who prove either good or bad, nei-
ther the virtues of the one, nor the vices of the other,

to

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 123

to whicli I have not contributed, are to be ascribed
to me.

My whole employment is to persuade tlie young
and old against too much love for the body, for riches,
and all other precarious things of whatsoever nature
they be, and against too little regard for the soul, which
ought to be the object of their affection. For I inces-»
santly urge to you, that virtue does not proceed frofn
riches, but on the contrary, riches from virtue ; and that
all the other goods of human life, os well })ublic as
private, have their source in the same principle.

If to speak in this manner be to corrupt youth,. I
confess, Athenians, that I am guilty, ar.d deserve to be
punished, if what I say be not true, it is most easy
to convict me of my falsehood. I see here a great
number of my disciples : they Irave only to appear.
But }7erhaps the reserve and considei-ation for a rnaster,
who has instructed theln, will prevent them from de-
claring against me : at least their fathers, brothers, and
uncles cannot, as goiod relations And good citizens, dis-
pense with their not staiJJing forth to demand ven-
geance sgainst the corrupter of their sons, brothers,
and nephews. But these are the j>ersons who take
upon them my defence, and interest themselves iu the
success of my cause.

Pass on me what sentence you please, Athetiians ;
but I can neither repent nor change my conduct. I
must not abandon or suspend a function, which God
himself has imposed On me, since he has charged me
with the care of instructing my fellow-citizens. If,
after having faithfully kept all the ports, wherein I
was placed by our generals, the fear of death should
at this time make me abandon that in which the Divine
Providence has placed me, by commanding me to pass
my life in the study of philosophy, for the instruction
of myself and others ; this would be a most criminal
desertion indeed, arid make me highly worth; of being
cited before this tribunal, as an impious man who docs
not believe the gods.

Should

124 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Should you resolve to acquit me for the future, i
should not hesitate to make answer, Athenians, I honor
and love you ; bat I shall choose rather to obey God
tlian you ; and to my latest breath shall never renounce
my philosophy, nor cease to exhort and reprove you
according to my custom. 1 am reproached with abject
fear and meanness of spirit, for being so busy in im*,
parting my advice to every one in private, and fo^
having always avoided to be present in your assemblie^f
to give my counsels to my country. I think I have
J r;fficicntly proved my courage and foi'titude, both in
^he iield, where I have borne amis with you, and in the<
Senate, when I alone, upon more than one occasion,
opposed the violent and cruel orders of the thirty ty-
rants. What is it then that has prevented me from ap-
pearing in your assemblies ? It is that demon, that
voice divine, which you have so often heard me men-
tion, and Melitus has taken so much pains to ridicule.

That spirit has attached itself to me from my infancy ;
it is a voice, which I never hear, but when it would
prevent me from persisting in something I have resolved ;
for it never exhorts me to undertake any thing. It is
the same being that has always opposed me, when 1,
would have intermeddled in the afiairs of the republic A
and that with the greatest reasoo ; for I should havd^
been amongst the dead long ago, had I been concerned
in the measures of the state, without effecting any thing
to the advantage of myself, or our country.

Do not take it ill, I beseech you, if I speak myl
thoughts without disguise, and with truth and freedom.^
Every man who would generously oppose a whole peo- |
pie, either amongst us or elsewhere, and who inflexibly '
applies himself to prevent the violation of the laws, and
the practice of iniquity in a government, will never do
so long with impunity. It is absolutely necessary for
him, who would contend for justice, if he has any
thoughts "^living, to remain in a private s'tation, and
never to have any share in public affairs.

For

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 125

P'or the rest, Athenians, if, in the extreme danger I
now am, I do not imitate the l-iehaviour of those, who,
upon less emcr2;encies, have implored and supplicated
their judges with tears, and have brought forth their
children, relations, and friends, it is not through pride
or obstinacy, or any contempt for you ; but solely for
your honor, and for that of the whole city. At my
age, and with the reputation, true or false, which I
have, would it be consistent for me, after all the les-
sons I have given upon the contempt of death, to be
afraid of it myself, and to belie in my last action all the
principles and sentiments of my past life ?

But without speaking of my fame, which I should
extremely injure by such a conduct, I do not think it
allowable to entreat a judge, nor to be absolved by sup-
plications : he ought to be persuaded and convinced.
The judge does not sit upon the bench to show favour
by violating the laws ; but to do justice in conforming
to them. Ife does not swear to discharge with impu-
nity whom he pleases ; but to do justice where it is
due. We ought not therefore to accustom you to
perjury, nor you to suffer yourselves to be accustomed
to it; for in so doing,: both the one and the other of
us equally injure justice and religion, and both are
criminals.

Do not therefore expect. from me, Athenians, that
t should have recourse to means which I believe nei-
ther honest nor lawful ; especially upon this occasion,
wherein I am accused of impiety by Melitus. For,
if! should influence you by my prayers, and thereby
induce you to violate your oaths, it would be unde-
niably evident, that I teach you not to believe in the
gods ; and even in defending and justifying myself,
should furnish my adversaries with arms against m6,
and prove that I believe no divinity. But 1 am very
far from such wicked thoughts. I am more convinced
of the existence of God than my accusers; and so con-
vinced, that r abandon myself to God and you, that
you may judge of me as you shallf think it best.

L 2 Dialogue

i.26 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Dialogue on Cowardice and Knavery.

Characters.
Hector, An Officer cashiered for Cowardice*
Hamburgh, A fraudulent Bankrupt*
Simon, A Pawn-Broker,

Trustv, In Disguise, acquainted with all*
(Sitting together ; some with scgars.)

SCENE, A Tavern*

Enter Landlord.
LaW/o.</.nENTLEMEN you all come different
V^ ways ; and I s'pose are strangers ; but
may be, you^d like to cut and come again upon a roast
turkey with good trimmings.

Trusty, With all my heart. I'd play knife and
fork even with a cut-throat over such a supper : and I
dare say, you will find none of us cowards or bankrupts
in that business.

Up start Hector, Hamburgh, and Simon*

All three* [To Trusty,'] Do you call me names. Sir t

Trusty* Gentlemen, I meant no personalities.

Hector, [Puts his hand to his sword,] But you call*
ed me a coward, you rascal.

Ilamb. [Takes off his coat,] You called me a bank-
rupt, you knave.

Si7no7i* [Doubles his f St.] You called me cut-throat,
you villain.

Trusty, I told you all, I meant no personalities j
but [To Hector] pray what are you ? ^ ^

Hector* A soldier, to your sorrow. Fear and tremble.

Trusty* [To Hamburgh,] Pray what are you ?

Hamb* A merchant.

Trusty* [To Simon,] And what a-i'e you ?

Simon, A banker*

,. ^. TriL^i/^

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 127

Trusty. Then if you are such as soldiers, merchants,
and bankers ought to he, I could not mean you ; oth-
erwise you may take the words, cut-throat, bankrupt,
and coward, and divide 'em among you. And as to
knave, rascal, and villain, I return them to the right
owners.

Heeior, Gentlemen, stand by. I'll fight for you all.
[DrazDS and turns to Trusty, 1 I challenge you to fight
me.

Land, Poh ! challenge him to eat with you ; the
supper's waiting.

Hector. [To Lattdlord.] Don't interfere, Sir: here's
serious work ; blood will be spilt.

Trusty. Well, spill your own then : I have no no-
tion of having my veins pricked.

Hector. Choose your mode of fighting instantly, or
fall beneath this sword, which has drank the blood of
thousands.

Trusty. Well, if I must fight, my mode will be to
use that sword five minutes upon your body : then you
shall use it upon me as long, and so we will take turns.

Hector. You inflame my choler.

Trusty. Then unpin your collar.

Hector. I shall burst with rage.

Trusty. Then we jshall have one less at table.

Hector. [Brandishes his sword.'] Are you prepared
for your exit ?

Trusty. I am. [Exit.

Hector. Now he is gone to arm himself with pano-
ply, to meet this valorous sword. Guard me, ye pow-
ers! who, in the day of batde, mid 'clashing swords
and all the thunder of my father Mars, have been my
shield and buckler. Now I am ready for him : why
does he not return ?

Land. lie's gone to supper. This is an eating
house, not a fighting house. Sheath your sword.

Hector. [Sheaths.] There, sword, smother thy rage
till some dauntless adversary shall call thee out : then
seek his heart and make report of victory.

[Exeunt cmnes*

128 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Interval fve minutes.
Enter Trusty and La>n^dlord.

Land, 1 take that oiRccr-looking man to be Colon
Home, one of the bravest men in the army.

Trusty, Colonel Home and he ai-c very diifere
characters. That wretch was but an ensign, and vi
cashiered for cowardice.

Laiid. Is that possible ? Why, he told me himself
that he had alone surprised a whole regiment and cut
them in pieces ; and that all the army stood in awe of
hiin.

Trnsty, Well, you may depend on what I tell vou :
and the one that sits next to him is a bankrupt/who
has been guilty of every shameful practice to defraud
his creditors ; and the other is a base pawn-broker,
vvho has got all the property of this bankrupt in hi|
hands for concealment.

Land, You surprise me! Why, that bankrupt, as
you call him, was just now telling the other, how he
was afraid the late storms at sea might aflect his ship-
ping ; and the other was offering to insure them.
Enter Hector, Hamburgh, and Simon.

Hector, [To Triisty.'] Since my wrath is a little
abated, I am persuaded you meant no offence; but
look ye, Sir, if any man was seriously tD dispute my
courage, you see my sword !

Trusty, I see ii.

Hector, And don't you fear it ?

Trusty, No ; nor its owner. [Hector offers to draw,]
Forbear, or '' I will tell a talc, will make it blush."

[Hector sneaks off,

Hamh, [To Trusty.'] 1 am not disposed, Sir, to be-
lieve that you meant me by any expression you made,
as to coward and eut-throat : they certainly don't
belonff to me. And as to bankrupt, the four winds
can give the lie to such- a charge.

Trusty, They €cml(l ^\y2 but windy testimony in
your favour. *^ Hamh,

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 129

- Ilamb, Then I appeal to this worthy gentleman,
fSpeaking of Simon, '\ and an honcster m.tn lives not on
earth, if I liave not thousands in his hands.

Simon, [Aside to Hamb.'j You had better leave it
to the four winds.

Hamh, [Loud and hastily,'] Have 1 not monies of
a great amount in your hands ?

. . Simon, Did you not take an oath, a few days sincc^
tliat you had not, directly nor indirectly, five pounds on
earth ?

Hamb. Yes. I had not on earth ; but it was then
in your coffers, and you know it.

Simon, U your oath that you had no property canH
be relied on, why should your word be taken, that yoii
have ?

Hamb, But I ask you, have you not my property
in your hands ?

Simon, Not a farthing. You are a bankrupt for
thousands, and the four winds may tell of that.

Hamb* O knavery !

Simon. O perjury !

Trust!/, You are perfectly welcome to use the words
I just now tossed out to you ; and it appears to me,
ihey are a very proper currency between you.

Hamb. O that I had the money out of tliat wretch's
hands, to give to my honest creditors !

Simon. O that 1 had the character, which I have
lost by my connexion with you !

Trusty. I am sorry for the depravity of you both.
ft has led you to deceive honest men, and to betray
each other. You have now learned the value of repu-
tation and peace of mind, by the loss of them. 'Let
your future days be days of atonement. Let them be
devoted to honesty and fair dealing ; and ever remem-
ber that integrity is the only road to desirable wealth,
and that the path of virtue is alone the path of peace.

Mr.

130 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Mr. Sheridan's Speech against Mr. Taylor.

TT7E have this day been honored with the coun-
* V seis of a complete gradation of lawyers. We
have received the opinion of a Judge, of an Attorney-
General, of an Ex-Attorney-General, and of a prac-
tising Barrister. I agree with the learned gentleman
in his admiration of the abilities of my honorable
friend, Mr. Fox. What he has said of his quickness
and of his profoundness, of his boldness and his candor,.
is literally just and true, which the mental accomplish-
ment of my honorable friend is, on every occasion, cal-
culated to extort even from his adversaries.

The learned gentleman has, however, in this insidi-
ous eulogium, connected such qualities of mind with'
those he has praised and venerated, as to convert hig
encomiums into reproach, and his tributes of praise in-
to censure and invective. The boldness lie has de-
scribed is only craft, and his candor, hypocrisy. Upon -
what grounds does the learned gentleman connect those
assemblages of great qualities and of cardinal defects ?
Uponwhat principles,either of justice or of equity, does
he exult Avith one hand, whilst he insidiously reprobates
and destroys with the other ?

If the wolf is to be feared, the learned gentiemait
may rest assured, it will be the wolf in sheep's clothing^?
the masked pretender to patriotism. It is not from the
fang of the lion, but from the tooth of the serpent,
that reptile which insidiously steals upon the vitals of the
constitution, and gnaws it to the heart, ere the mis-
chief is suspected, that destruction is to be feared.

With regard to the acquisition of a learned gentle-
man, Mr. Taylor, who has declared that he means to
vote with us this day, I am son'y to acknowledge, that
from the declaration he has made at the beginning of
his speech, I see no great reason to boast of such an
auxiliary. The learned gentleman^ who has with pe-
culiar

THE COLUMBIAxN ORATOR. 131

•culiar modesty styled himself a chicken lawyer.hdis de-
clared, that, thinking us in the right with respect to
the subject of this day's discussion, he shall vote with
us ; but he has at the same time thought it necessary
to assert, that he has never before voted differently
from the minister and his friends, and perhaps he never
shall again vote with those whom he means to support
this day.

It is rather singular to vote witl^us, professedly be-
cause he finds us to be in the right, and, in the very
moment that he assigns so good a reason for changing his
side, to declare, that in all probability he never shall
vote with us again. I am sorry to find the chicken is
a bird of ill omen, and that its augury is so unpropi-
tious to our future interests. Perhaps it would have
been as welj, under these circumstances, that the chick-
en had not left the barn-door of the treasury ; but
continued side by side with the old cock, to pick those
crumbs of comfort which would doubtless be dealt out
m time, with a liberality proportionate to the fidelity
of the feathered tribe.

Part of Cicero's Oration against Catiline.

TT is now a long time, conscript fathers, that we
JL have trod amidst the dangers and machinations of
this conspiracy : but I know not how it comes to pass,
the full maturity of all those crimes, and of this long-
ripenmg.rage and insolence, has now broken out du-
ring the period of my consulship. Should Catiline
alone be removed from this powerful band of traitors.
It may abate, perhaps, our fears and .anxieties for a
Tvhile ; but the danger will still remain, and continue
lurkmg in the veins and vitals of the republic.

For as men, oppressed with a severe fit of illness,
and labouring under the raging heat of a fever, are
often at first seemingly relieved by a draught of cold

watf r ;

1S2 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. ^

"■2
water ; but afterwards find the disease return upon them

with redoubled fury ; in like manner, this distemper,
which has seized the commonwealth, eased a little by
the punishment of this traitor, will, from his surviving
associates, soon assume new force. Wherefore, con-
script fathers, let the wicked retire ; let them sepa-
rate themselves from the honest ; let them rendezvous
in one place. In fine, as I have often said, let a v/all
be between them anii us ; let them cease to lay snares
for the consul in his own house ; to beset the tribunal
of the city prastor ; to invest the senate-house with
armed rutnans,and to prepare fire-balls and torches for
burning the city : in short, let every man's sentiments
with regard to the public be inscribed on his forehead.

This I engage for, and promise, conscript fathers,
that by the diligence of the consuls, the weight of } our
authority, the courage and firmness of the Roman
knigjits, and the unanimity of all the honest, Catiline
being driven from the city, you shall behold all his
1 reasons detected, exposed, crushed, and punished.

With these omens, Catiline, of all prosperity to the
republic, but of destruction to thyself, and all those
W'ho have joined themselves with thee in all kinds of
parricide, go thy way then to this impious and abom-
inable war: whilst thou, Jupiter, whose religion was'
established with the foundation of this city, whom we
n-uly call Stator, the stay and prop of this empire, wilt
drive this man and his accomplices irom thy altars and
temples, from the houses and walls of the city, from
the lives and fortunes of us all ; and wilt destroy with
eternal punishments, both living and dead, all the
h.aters of good men, the enemies of their country, the
plunderers of Italy, now confederated in this detesta-
ble league and partnership of viLlany.

Descriptioin

THE COLUMBIAN OflAT0R. 133

Description of the first American Congress >
FROM THE Vision of Columbus.

COLUMBUS look'd ; and still around them spread,
From south to north, th' immeasurable shade ;
At last, the central shadows burst away,
And rising regions open'd on the day.
He saw, once more, bright DcPware's silver stream.
And Penn's throng'd city cast a chcft-ful gleam ;
The dome of state, that met his eager eye^
Now heav'd its arches in a loftier sky.
The bursting gates unfold : and lo, within,
A solemn train, in conscious glory, shine.
The well-knov.-n forms his eye had trac'd before,
In dift^'rent realms along tli' extended shore ;
Here, grac'd with nobler fame, and rob'd in statCj
They look'd and mov'd magnificently great.
High on the foremost seat, in living light,
Majestic Randolph caught the hero's sight : ,

Fair on his head, the civic crown was plac'd,
And the first dignity his sceptre grac'd.
He opes the cause, and points in prospect far,.
' Through all the toils that wait th' impending war,
But, hapless sage, thy reign must soon be o'er,
To lend thy lustre, and to shine no more.
So the bright morning star, from shades of ev'n,
Leads up the dawn, and lights the front of heav'n,
Points to the waking world the sun's broad way,
Then v^ils his own, and shines above the day.
Arid see great Washington behind thee rise,
Thy following sun, to gild our morning skies ;
O'er shadov/y climes to pour th' enlivening flame,
The charms of freedom and the fire of fame.
Th' ascending chief adorn'd his splendid seat,
Like Randolph, ensign'd with a crown of state,
Where the green patriot bay beheld, with pride,
The hero's laurel springing by its side ;
His sword hung useless, on his graceful thigh,

M On

134 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

On Britain still he cast a filial eye ;
But sovereign fortitude his visage bore,
To meet their legions on th' invaded shore.

Sage Franklin next arose, in awful mien,
And smil'd, unruffled, o'er th' approaching scene ;
High, on his locks of age, a wreath was brac'd.
Palm of all arts, that e'er a mortal grac'd ;
Beneath him lies the sceptre kings have borne,
And crowns and laurels from thcii' temples torn.
Nash, Rutledge, Je^erson, in council great,
And Jay and Laurens op'd the rolls of fate.
The Livingstons, fair freedom's gen'rous band,
The Lees, the Houstons, fathers of the land,
O'er climes and kingdoms turn'd their ardent eyes,
Bade all th' oppress'd to speedy vengeance rise ;
All powers of state, in their extended plan.
Rise from consent to shield the rights of man.
Bold Wolcott urg'd the all-important cause ;
With steady hand the solemn scene he draws ;
Undaunted firmness -with his v/isdom join'd.
Nor kings nor worlds could warp his stedfast mind

Now, graceful rising from his purple throne.
In radiant robes, immortal Hosmer shone ;
Myrtles and bays his learned temples bound,
The statesman's wreath, the poet's garland crownM :
Morals and laws expand his liberal soul,
Beam from his eyes, and in his accents roU.
But lo ! an unseen hand the curtain drew.
And snatch'd the patriot from the hero's view ;
Wrapp'd in the shroud of death, he sees descend ■.
The guide of nations and the muse's friend. I

Columbus dropp'd a tear. The angel's eye
Trac'd the freed spirit mounting through the sky<

Adams, enrag'd, a broken charter bore,
And lawless acts of ministerial power;
Some injur'd right in each loose leaf appear^,
A king in terrors and a land in tears ;
From all the guileful plots the veil he drew.
With eye retortive look'd cv^-^^hii thro'iojb ;

Opi

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 135

Ojvd the wide ran^c of nature's boundless plan,
Ti-ac'd all the steps of liberty and man 5
Crowds rose to vengeance while his accents rung,
And Independence thunder'd from his tongue.

Speech of Buonaparte, Commander in Chief of
THE French Army in Italy, to his Brethren
IN Arms.

/ Soldiers,

"\7'0U arc precipitated like a torrent from the
X heights of the Appenines ; you have overthrown
and dispersed all that dared to oj^pose your march.
Piedmont, rescued from Austrian tyranny, is left to its
natural sentiments of regard and friendship to the
French. Milan is yours ; and the republican standard
is displayed throughout all Lombardy. The dukes of
Parma and Modena are indebted for their political ex-
istence only to your generosity.

The army, which so proudly menaced you, has had
no other barrier than its dissolution to oppose your in-
vincible courage. The Po, the Tessen, the Adda, could
not retard you a .single day. The vaunted bulwarks
cf Italy were insufficient. You swept them with the
same rapidity that you did the Appenines. Those suc-
cesses have carried joy into the bosom of your country.
Your representatives decreed a festival dedicated to your
victories^ and to be celebrated throughout all the com-
munes of the republic. Now your fathers, your moth-
ers, your wives, and your sisters, will rejoice in your
success, and take pride in their relation to you.
; Yes, soldiers, you have done much ; but more still
remains for you to do. Shall it be said of us, that we
! know how to conquer, but not to profit by our victo-
ries ? Shall posterity reproach us with having found a
I Capua in Lombardy'/ But already I sec you fly to
I arms. You are fatigued with an inactive repose. Voii
I lament the days that are lost to your glory! Well,
I then^

I'

1

tS6 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

then, let us proceed; we have other forced marches to
make, other enemies to subdue •, more laurels to ac-
quire, and more injuries to avenge.

Let those who have unsheathed the da^ggers of civil|
war in France ; who have basely assassinated our miri-?
isters 5 who have btirnt our ships at Toulon ; let them
tremble ! the knell of vengeance has already tolled !

But to quiet the apprehensions of the people, we
declare ourselves the friends of all, and particularly of
those Vv'ho are the descendants of Brutus, of Scipio,
and those other great men whom wo have taken foj
our models.

To re-establish the capital ; to replace the statues
of those heroes who have rendered it immortal ; t9
rouse the Roman people entranced in 'so many ages o{
slavery ; this shall be the fruit of your victories. U
will be an epoch for the admiration of posterity ; yoti
will enjoy the immortal glory of changing the aspect
of affairs in the finest part of Europe. The free peo-
ple of France, not regardless of moderation, shall accord
to Europe a glorious peace ; but it will indemnify
itself for the sacrifices of every kind which it has been
making for six years past. You will again be restored
to your fire-sides and homes ; and your fellow-citizen^
pointing you out, shall say, '* There goes one who
belonged to the army of Italy !"

Reflections over the Grave of a Young Man.

HERE lies the grief of a fond mother, and the blast-
ed expectation of an indulgent father. The^
youth grew up, like a well-watered plant; he shot
deep, rose high, and bade fair for manhood. But just
as the cedar began to tower, and promised ere long, to
be the pride of the wood, and prince among the neigi^
bouring trees, behold! the axe is laid unto the root

oil

1

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. i37

the fatal blow struck; and all its branching honors
tumbled to the dust. And did he fall alone ? No :
the hopes of his father that begat him, and the pleasing
prospects of her that bare him, fell, and were crushed
together with him.

. Doubtless it would have pierced one's heart, to have
beheld the tender parents following the breathless
youth to his long home. Perhaps, drowned in tears,
and all overwhelmed with sorrows, they stood, like
weeping statues, on this very spot. Methinks I see
the deeply-distressed mourners attending the sad solem-
nity. How they wring their hands, and pour forth
floods from their eyes ! Is it fancy ? or do I really
hear the passionate mother, in an agony of affliction,
taking her final leave of the darling of her soul?
Dumb she remained, while the awful obsequies were
performing ; dumb with grief, and leaning upon the
partner of her woes. But now the inward anguish
struggles for vent ; it grows too big to be repressed.
She advances to the brink of the grave. All her soul
is in her eyes. She fastens one more look upon the
dear doleful object,: before the pit shuts its mouth upon
him. And as she looks, she cries ; in broken accents,
interrupted by many a rising sob, she cries, Farewell,
my son ! my son ! my only beloved ! would to God I
had died for thee ! Farewell, my child ! and farewell all
earthly happiness ! I shall never more see good in the
land of the living. Attempt not to comfort me. I
will go mourning all my days, till my grey hairs come
down with sorrow to the grave. .

/

, Scene from the Drama of " Moses in the
Bulrushes."

JocHEBED, Miriam.

Jochebed.'Wl^^, '?' "^y P^y^^ accepted? why
T T did lieaven

lA anger hear me, when 1 ask'd a son ?

M2 Ye

138 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Ye dames of Egypt ! happy ! happy mothers !
No tyrant robs you of yom* fondest hopes ;
You are not doom'd to see the babes you bore.
The babes you nurture, bleed before your eyes J
You taste the transports of maternal love,
And never know its anguish ! Happy mothers !
How different is the lot of thy sad daughters,
O wTetched Israel ! Was it then for this ?
Was it for this the righteous arm of God
Rcscu'd his chosen people from the jaws
Of cruel want, by pious Joseph's care ?
Joseph, th' elected instrum.ent.of Heav'n,
Decreed to save illustrious Abram's race,
What time the famine rag'd in Canaan's land.
Israel, who then was spar'd, must perish now!
O thou mysterious Pow'r ! who hast involved
Thy wise decrees in darkness, to perplex
The pride of human wisdom, to confound
The daring scrutiny, and prove the fftith
Of thy presuming creatures ! clear this doubt j
Teach me to trace this maze of Providence ;
Why save the fathers, if the sons must perish ?

Miriam. Ah me, my mother! v/hene^ these flc
of grief ?

Joch* My son ! ray son ! I cannot speak the res^
Yg who have sons can only know my fondness !
¥e who have lost them, or who fear to lose,
Can only know my pangs ! None else can guess them*
A mother's sorrows cannot be conceiv'd,
But by a mother. Wherefore am I one '?

Mir, With many prayers thou didst request this son,
And Heav'n has granted him. .

Jack, O sad estate

Of human wretchedness i so weak is man.
So ignorant and blind, that did not God
Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask,
We showld be ruin'd at our own request.
Too well thou know'st, my child, the stern decree
Of Fgypt's cr\iol ki/ig, hard-hearted Pharaoh ;

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 139

" That ev'ry male, of Hebrew mother born,

♦' Must die." O ! do 1 live to tell it thee ? ;

Must die a bloody death ! My child ! my son,

My youngest born, my darling must be slain !

Mir, The helpless itmocent ! and must he die ?

Joch, No : if a mother's tears, a mother's prayers,
A mother's fond precautions can prevail,
He shall not die. I have a thought, my Miriam! .
And sure the God of mercies, who inspired,
Will bless the secret purpose of my soul,
To save his precious life.

Mir, Hop'st thjDU that Pharaoh —

Joch. I have no hope in Pharaoh; much in God,
Much in the Rock of Ages.

Mir, Think, O think,

What perils thou already hast incurrd ;
And shun the greater, which may yet remain, [serv'd
Three months, three dang'rous months thou hast pre-
Thy infant's life, and in thy house conceaPd him!
Should Pharaoh knoAv !

Joch, O ! let the tyrant know,
And feel what he inflicts ! Yes, hear me, Kcav'n !»

Send the right aiming thunderbolts But hush,

My impious murmurs ! Is it not thy will,

Thou infinite in mercy ? Thou perm.itt'st

This seeming evil for some latent good.

Yes, I will laud thy grace, and bless thy goodness

For what I have, and not arraign thy v/isdom "

For what I fear to lose. O, I will bless thee.

That Aaron will be spar d ! that my first-born

Lives safe and undisturb'd ! that he was given me

Before this impious persecution rag'd !

Mir, And yet who knov/s, but the fell tyrant's rage
May reach his precious life ?

Joch, I fear for him.

For thee, for all. A doting parent lives
In many lives ; through many a nerve she feels :
From child to child the qpick affections spread,
Forever wand'rmg, yet iorever fiii'd. .

Nor

140 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. y

Nor does division weaken, nor the force '

Of constant operation e'er exhaust

Parental love. All other passions change,

With changing circumstances : rise or fall, ;

Dependant on their object ; claim returns ;

Live on reciprocation, and expire

Unfed by hope. A mother's fondness reigns

Without a rival, and without an end.

Mi}\ But say what Heav'n inspires, to save thy son

Jock. Since the dear fatal morn which gave him birth
I have revolv'd in my distracted mind
Each mean to save his life : and many a thought,
Which fondness prompted, prudence has oppos'd
As perilous and rash. With these poor hands
I've fram'd a little ark of slender reeds !
With pitch and slime I have secur'd the sides.
In this frail cradle I intend to lay
My little helpless infant, and expose him
Upon the banks of Nile.

Mir, 'Tis full of danger.

Joch, 'Tis danger to expose, and death to keep him.-

Mir, Yet, O Tcflcct ! Should the fierce crocodile,
The native and the tyrant of the Nile, ,
Seize the defenceless infant !

Joch, O, forbear!

Spare my fond heart. Yet net the crocodile^
Nor all the deadly monsters of the deep,
To me are half so terrible as Pharaoh,
That heathen king, that royal murderer !

Mir, Should he escape, which yet I uare not hop*
Each sea-born mon&ter; yet the winds and waves
He cannot 'scape.

Joch. Know, God is every where ;
Not to one narrow, partial spot confin'd ;
No, not to chosen Israel. He extends ^

Through all the vast infinitude of space. .
At his command the furious tempests rise,
The blasting of the breath of his. displeasure i '1
He tells the world of waters when to roar j

An<

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 141

And at his bidding, winds and seas are calm.
In Him, not in an arm of flesh I trust ;
In Him, whose promise never yet has fail'd,
I place my confidence.

Mir. What must I do ?

Command thy daughter, for thy words have wak'd
An holy boldnesi inmv youthful breast.

Joch. Go then, my Miriam ; go, and take the infant ;
Buried in harmless slumbers, there he lies ;
* Let me not see him. Spare my heart that pang.
Yet sure, one little look m^y be indulged ;
One kiss ; perhaps the last. No more, my soul !
That fondness would be fatal. I should keep him*
I could not doom to death the babe I clasp'd :
Did ever mother kill her sleeping boy ?
I dare not hazard it. The task be thine.

0 ! do not wake my chiM ; remove him softly ;
And gently lay him on the river's brink.

Mir, Did those magician.^;, whom the sons of Egypt

Consult, and think all potent, join their skill,

And was it great as Egypt's sons believe ;

Yet all their secret wizard arts combin'd.

To save this little ark of bulrushes,
. Thus fearfully expos'd, could not effect it.

Their spells, their incantations, and dire charms

Could not preserve it.

Jock, Know, this ark is charm'd

With spells, which impious flgypL never knew.
' VViih invocations to the living God, ^

1 twisted every slender reed together.
And with a prayer did cv'ry osier weave.

Mir, I go.

Joch, Yet ere thou go'st, observe me well.
When thou hast laid him in his wat'ry bed,

0 leave him not ; but at a distance wait,

And mark what Heav'n's high will determines fur him.
Lay him among the flags on yonder beach,
Just where the royal gardens -meet the Nile.

1 dare not follow him. Suspicion's eye

Would

142 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Would note my wild demeanor ; Miriam, yes,
The mother's fondness would betray the child.
Farewell ! God of my fathers, O protect him !

Sl'EEOH OF CaIUS CaSSIUS TO HIS COLLECTED

Forces, after the Death of Cesar.

Soldiers and Fellow-Citizens,

THE unjust reproaches of our enemies we could
easily disprove, if we were not, by our numbers,
and by the swords which we hold in our hands, in con-
dition to despise them. While Cesar led the armies of
the republic against the enemies of Rome, we took
part in the same service with him ; we obeyed him ;
we were happy to serve under his command. But
when he declared war against the commonwealth, we
became his enemies ; and when he became an usurper
and a tyrant, we resented, as an injury, even the fa-
vours which he presumed to bestow upon ourselves.

Had he been to fall a sacrifice to private resentment,
we should not have been the proper actors in the exe-
cution of the sentence against him. He was willing to
have indulged us with preferments and honours ; but, ^
we were not willing to accept, as the gift of a master, '
what we were entitled to claim as free citizens. We
conceived, that, in presuming to confer the honors of
the Roman Republic,he encroached on the prerogatives
of the Roman people, and insulted the authority of
the Roman senate. Cesar cancelled the laws, and over-
tunied the constitution of his country ; he usurped all
the powers of the commonwealth, set up a m.onarchy,
and liimself aflected to be a king. This our ancestors,
at the expulsion of Tarquin, bound themselves and
their posterity, by the most solemn oaths, and by the
most direful imprecations, never to endure. The same
obligation has been entailed upon us as a debt by ou
fatlitrs ; and we, having faithfully paid and dischargei

it

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. i4S

it, have performed the t)ath, and averted the conse-
quences of failure from ourselves, and from our pos-
terity.

In the station of soldiers, we might have committed
ourselves, without reflection, to the command of an
officer, whose abilities and whose valour we admired ;
but, in the character of Roman citizens, we have a far
different part to sustain. I must suppose, that I now
speak to the Roman people, and to citizens of a free
republic ; to men who have never learned to depend
upon others for gratifications and favours ; who are not
accustomed to own a superior, but who are themselves
the masters, the dispensers of fortune and of honor,
and the givers of all those dignities and powers by
which Cesar himself was exalted, and of which he as-
sumed the entire disposal.

Recollect from whom the Scipios, the Pompeys, and
even Cesar himself derived his honors ; from your an-
cestors, whom you now represent, and from yourselves,
to whom, according to the laws of the republic, we,
who are now your leaders in the field, address ourselves
as your fellow-citizens in the commonwealth, and as
persons depending on your pleasure for the just reward
and retribution of our services. Happy in being able
to restore to you what Cesar had the presumption to
appropriate to himself, the power and the dignity of
your fathers, with the supreme disposal of all the of-
fices of trust that were established for your safety, and
for the preservation of your freedom ; happy in being
able to restore to the tribunes of the Roman people the
power of protecting you, and of procuring to every
Roman citizen that justice, v,hich, under the late usur-
pation of Cesar, was withheld, even from the sacred
persons of those magistrates themselves.

An usurper is the common enemy of all good citizens ;
but tlie task of removing him could be the business only
of a fevr. The senate and the Roman people, as soon
as it was proper for them to declare their judgment,
pronounced their approbation of those who were con-
cerned

144 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

cerned in the death of Cesar, t)y the rewards and the
honors which they bestowed upon them ; and they are
now become a prey to assassins and murderers; they
bleed in the streets, in the temples, in the most secret
retreats, and in the arms of their families ; or they are
dispersed, and fly wherever they hope to escape the
fury of their enemies.

Many are now present before you, happy m your
protection, happy in witnessing the zeal which you en-
tertain for the commonwealth, for the rights of your
fellow-citizens, and for your own. These respectable
citizens, we trust, will soon, by your means, be restor-
ed to a condition in which they can enjoy, together
with you, ail the honors of a free people ; concur with
you, in bestowing, and partake with you in receivmg,
the rewards which are due to such eminent services as
you are now engaged to perform.

1

Part of Mr. Erskine's Speech against Mr.
Pitt, 1784.

I

Mr. Speaker,

T becomes us to Ifearn, not from the minister, but^
_ from the throne itself, whether this country is to
be governed by men, in whom the House of Commons
can confide, or whether we, the people of England's^
Representatives, are to be the sport and foot-ball of anyj
junto that may hope to rule over us, by an unseen and:
unexplorable principle of government, utterly unknown
to the Constitution. This is the great question, t-
which every public-spirited citizen of this countr
should direct his view. A question which goes ver^
wide of the policy to be adopted concerning India ^
about which very wise and very honest men, not only
might, but have, and did materially differ.

The total removal of all the executive servants o
the crown, while they are in the full enjoyment of th

confidenc

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOK. 145

confidence of that House, and, indeed, withont any
other visible or avowed'cause of removal, than because
they do enjoy that confidence ; and the appointment
of others in their room, without any other apparent
ground of selection than because they enjoy it not, is,
in my mind, a most alaraiing and portentous attack on
the public freedom ; because, though no outward form
of the government is relaxed or violated by it, so as
instantly to supply the constitutional remedy of oppo-
sition, the whole spirit and energy of the .government
is annihilated by it.

If the Right Honorable Gentleij^ian retain his own opin-
ions, and if the house likewise retain its own, is it not
evident that he came into office without the most dis-
tant prospect of serving the public ? Is it not evident
that he has brought on a struggle between executive
and legislative authority, at a time when they are
pointing with equal vigour, unity, and effect, to the
common interests of the nation ?

The Right Honorable Gentleman may imagine that
I take pleasure in making these observations. If so, 1
can assure him, upon my honor, that it is far from be-
ing the case. So very far the contrary, that the incon-
veniences which the country suffers at this moment,
from the want of a settled government, arc greatly
heightened to my feelings, from the reflection that they
are i) creased by his unguided ambition.

Our fathers were fi'iends ; and I was taught, from
my infancy, to reverence the name of Pitt ; an original
partiality, which, instead of being diminished, w^as
strongly confirmed by an acquaintance with the RighV
Honorable Gentleman himself, which I was cultivating
with pleasure, when he was taken from his profession,
into a different scene. Let him not think that I am
the less his friend, or the mean envier of his talents,
because they have been too much the topic of pane-
gyric here already, and both I and ilie public are now
reaping the bitter fruits of the^e intemperate praises.

N '^rt

t46 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR,

)eafP

*' It is good,'' said Jeremiah, *' for a man to be
the yoke in his youth ;" and if the Right Honorable
Gentleman had attended to this maxim, he woiild not^
at so early a period, have declared against a subordi-
iiate situation ; but would have lent the aid of his fac
ulties to carry on the afiairs of this country, vvhi£
wanted nothing but stability to render them glorious",
instead of setting up at once for himself to be the first

How very different has been the progress of ra-
honorable friend, who sits near me •, who was n
hatched at once into a minister, by the Iieat of his ow
ambition ; but who, as it was good for him to do, i^
the words of the prophet, " bore the yoke in his } outh -^t
passed through the subordinate ofiices,and matured his
talents, in long and laborious oppositions ; arriving, by
the natural progress of his powerful mind, to a su}:)c-
riority of political wisdom and comprehension, which
this House had long, with delight and satisfaction, ac-
knowledged.

To pluck such a man from the councils of his coun-
try in the hour of her distresses, while he enjoyed the
full confidence of the House, to give effect to vigorous
plans for her interest; and to throw every thing into
confusion, by the introduction of other men, introdu-
ced, as it should seem, for no other purpose than to
beget that confusion, is an evil, which, if we canjiot
rectify, we may at least have leave to lament.

These evils are, however, imputed, by the Rii;ht
Honorable Gentleman and his colleagues, to anoUinr
source ; to the bill for the regulation of the East-In-
dies ; from, the mischiefs of which they had stepped
forth to save the country ; a language most indecent
in this House of Commons, which thought it their duty
to the public to pass it by a majority of above one hun-
dred ; but which was, however, to be taken to be de-
structive and dangerous, notwithstanding that author-
ity : because it had been disapproved by a majority ol
eighteen votes in the House of Lords. Some of whose
opinions I reverence as conscientious and independent ;

bir.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOa. 147

]^>ut the majority of that small majority voted upon
principles which the forms of the House will not per-
nit me to allude to, farther than to say, that individual
Noblemen are not always Gentlemen,

Extract fro^ President Washixoton's Address
TO THE People of the Umted States, Sep-
tember 17, 1796.

Friends and Fellow-Citizens,
[ri^HE period for a new election of a citizen to ad-
X minister the executive govcrnnirnt of the United
States, being not far distant ; and the time actually
arrived, wlien your thoughts must be emplo3'ed in de-
signating the person, who is to be cluihed with that
important trust, it appears to me proper, especially as
it may conduce to a more distinct expression of the
public voice, that I should now apprise you of the res-
olution I have formed, 'to declijie being considered
among the number of those, out of whom a choice is
to be made.

.1 beg you, at the same time, to do me the justice to
,^e assured, that this resolution has not been taken,
without a strict regard to all the considerations apper-
taining to the relation, which binds a dutiful citizen to
his country ; and that, in withdrawing the tender of
service which silence in my situation might imply, I
am influenced by no diminution of zeal for your future
interest ; no deficiency of grateful respect for your past
kihdness ; but am supported by a full conviction that
^e step is compatible with both.

The acceptance of, and continuance hidierto in the
office to which your suffrages have twice called me,
have been a uniform sacrifice of inclination to the opin-
ion of duty, and to a deference for what appeared to
be your desire. I consta>itly hoped, that it would have
been much earlier in my pewcr, consistently wiih mo-
tives,

>48 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

kives, which I was not at liberty to disregard, to retui-ji
to that retirement from which I had been reluctantlj^
^awn. The strength of my inclination to do thi^*
previous to the last election, had even led to the prepw
sration of an address to declare it to you ; but matu^;e
reflection on the then perplexed and critical posture of
®ur a/fairs with foreign nations, and the unanimous ad-
vice of persons entitled to my confidence, impelled mt
to abandon the idea.

I rejoice, that the state of your corrcerns, external as
well as internal, no longer renders the pursuit of incU-1|
aation incompatible with the sentiment of duty, or pro-^
priety ; and am persuaded, whatever partiality may be
retaiiied for my services, that in the present circum-.
stances of our country, you will not disapprove my*
determination to retire.

The impressions, with which I first undertook the
arduous trust, were explained on the proper occasion.
In the discharge of this trust, I will only say, that I
have with good intentions contributed towards the or-^<
ganization and administration" of the government, thej
best exertions of which a very fallible judgment wai
capable. Not unconscious, in the outset, of the infe-
riority of my qualifications, experience in my own eyes,
perhaps still more in the eyes of others, has strength-
ened the motives to diffidence of myself: and every
day the increasing weight of years admonishes me more
and more, that the shade of retirement is as necessary
to me as it will be welcome. Satisfied that if any cir-
cumstances have given peculiar value to my services,
they were temporary, I have the consolation to believe,
that while choice and prudence invite me to quit the
political scene, patriotism does not forbid it.

In looking forward to the moment which is intend- J
ed to terminate the career of my public life, m.y feel-^
ings do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowl-'
edgment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my
beloved country, for the many honors it has conferred^
upon me ; still more for the stedfast confidence withj

which]

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. Mi)

which it has supported me ; and for tiie opportunities I
have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable at-
tachment, by services faithful and persevering, though
in usefulness unequal to my zeal. If benefits have re-
sulted to our country from these services, let it always
be remembered to your praise, as an instructive exam-
ple in our annals, that under circumstaoces in which
the passions, agitated in every direction, were liable to
mislead ; amidst appearances sometimes dubious ; vicis-
situdes of fortune often discouraging ; in situations in
which, not unfrcquently, want of success has counte-
I ^anced the spirit of criticism ; the constancy of your
support was the essential prop of the efforts, and a
'guarantee of the plans by which they were effected.
' Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shall carry it
I with me to my grave, as a strong incitement to unceas-
I in^ vows that Heaven may continue to you the choicest
!4okens of its benciiccnce ; that your union and broth-
icrly affection may be perpetual ; that the free consti-
Itution, which is the work of your hands, may be sa-
lly maintained ; that its administration in every de-
ancnt may be stomped with wisdom and virtue ;
., in fine, the happiness of the people of these States,
:erthe auspices of liberty, may be made complete,
so careful a preservation and so prudent a use of this
,unjssing, as will acquire to them the glory of recom-
imendrngit to the applause, the affection, and adoption
^very nation which is yet a stranger to it.
though in reviewing the incidents of my adminis-
itration, I am unconseious of intentional error; I am
nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it
bable that I may have committed many errors.
itever they may be, I fervently beseech the Al-
illy to avert or mitigate the evils to which they
itend. I shall also carry with mc the hope that my
jcountry will never cease to view them with indulgence ;
iand after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its ser-
vice, with an upright zeal-, the faults of incompetent
, ' .• N2: ' '. abrlit'ies

\50 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

abilities v/ill be consigned to oblivion, as myself must
soon be to the mansions of rest.

Relying on its kindness in this as in othdr things^
and actuated by that fervent love towards it, which i||
so natural to a man who" views in it the native soil ot
himself and his progenitors for several generafions, T
anticipate with pleasing 'expectation that retreat, in
which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the
sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fel-
low-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under
a free government ; the ever favorite object of my
heart, and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual
cares, labors, and dangers..

Dialogue on the CnoiCE of Business for Life.

^ %

Enter Edward, Charley, and Thomas.
FfJ , XT appears to me high time for us to choose

^^^ ' X our business for life. Our academical
studies will soon be completed ; and I wish to look
little forward.. What say you ? am I right ?

Charley, It may be well for you : poor men's soi
must look out for themselves. My father is able to s\M,
port me at my ease ; and my maimrta says she woul
rather see me laid in a coffin than shut up in a study,
spoiling my eyes and racking my brains, plodding over
your noj^sensical minister, doctor, and lawyer books ;
a?nd I am sure she would never have me confined behind
a counter, or a merchant's desk. She intends I shall be
brought up a gentleman* My mother is of noble blood,
and she don't intend that I shall disgrace it.

Edw, Pray, master Charley, who was the father o;
your noble-blooded mother ?

Char. A gentleman, I'd have you to know.

Edw, Yes, a gentleman cobler, to my knowledge.

Char, Aye, he followed that business, to be surf,
sometimes, to stop the damour of the vulgar. Then

pool

THE COLUMBIAN ©RATOR. 151

poor people could net bear to see a rich man living at
his ease, or give a nobleman his title. But times are
altering for the better, my mamma says : the rich be-
gin to govern now. We shall so®n live in style, and
wear titles here as well as in England. She intends to-
send over and get my coat of arms, and she hopes to
add a title to them.

ir Edw, High style! titles! and coats of arms! fine
things in America, to be sure! Well, after all, I can't
really disapprove of your mamma's plan. A lapstone,
an awl, and shoe-hammer will make a fine picture, and
may appear as well in your mother's parlour, as in her
father'* shop : and the title of coblcr, or shoe-maker
^would well become her darling Charley.
, '. Char* I will not be insulted on account of my grand-
father's employment, I'll have you to know! I. have,
heard my mother say, her father was grandson of an
aiint of 'squire Thorn, who once had a horse that run
a race with the famous horse of a cousin of the Duke
of Bedford, of .

Edw, Quite enough ! I am fully convinced of the
justice of your claim ta the title of Duke, or whatever
you please. About as much merit in it, T perceive, as
in your father's tide to his estate. Ten thousand dol-
lars drawn in a lottery ! already two thirds spent. A
title to nobility derived from the grandson of aa aunt
of 'squire Thorn, from 'squire Thorn's horse, or per-
haps from some monkey, that has been a favorite play-
mate with the prince of Wales. These are to be the
support of your ease and honor through life. Well, I
believe there is no need of yoor troubling yourself about
your future employment: that is already determined.
Depend upon it, you will repent of your folly, or scratch
a- poor man's head as long as you live. I advise yoa
to set about the former, in order to avoid the latter.

Char. I did not come to you for advice. I'll not bear
your insults, or disgrace myself with your company any
longer. My parents shall teach you better manners.

[Exit Charlcitf,

152 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Thomas, I pity the vanity and weakness of this poor 4
lad. But reflection and experience will teach him the \
fallacy of his hopes.

Edw, Poor child; he does not know that his lot-
tery money is almost gone ; that his father's house is
mortgaged for more than it is worth ; and that the only
care of his parents is to keep up the appearance of I
present grandeur, at the expense of future shame,
llappy for us, that we are not deluded with such de-
ceitful hopes.

Tho, My parents were poor ; not proud. They ex- .
pericnced the want of learning ; but were resolved their jj
children should share the benefit of a good education. ■•
I am the fourth son, who owe the debt of filial gratitude..
All but myself are well settled in business, and doing
honor (o themselves and their parents. If I fall short
i^i theij" example, I shall be most ungrateful.

EaIio, I have neither father nor mother to excite my
gratitude, or stimulate my exertions. But I wish to-
behave in such a manner, that if my parents could look
down and observe my actions, they might approve my
conduct. Of my family, neither root nor branch re-
mains : all have paid the debt of nature. They left a
name for honesty ;. and I esteem that higher than a pre-t
tended title to greatness. They have left me a small
farm, which, though not enough for my support, wilf,
w^ith my own industry, be sufficient. For emj^loyment,
to pass av»'ay the winter season, 1 have determined upon
keejjing a school for my neighbours' children.

Tko. 1 heartily approve of your determination.^
Our mother Earth rewards, with . peace and plenty, w-
those, who cultivate her face ; but loada, with anxious I
cares, those, who dig her bowels for treasure. The
life you contemplate is favorable to the enjoyment of
social happiness, improvement of the m-ind, and securi-
ty of virtue ; and the task of training the tender mind is
an employment, that ought to meet the encourage-
ment, the gratitude of every parent, and the respect of
every child. Edit:*

THE_C0LUMBIAN ORATOR. 1^3

^ j^ow, I am pleased that you approve my choice.
vV ill you frankly tell me yotir own ?

Tho, I will : my intention is to follow the inclina-

lon of my kind parents. It is their desire that I should

be a preacher. Their other sons have taken to other

^^ <^lljngs ; and they wish to see one of their children in

the desiC. If their prayers are answered, I shall be

. -fitted for the important task. To my vouth, it appears

formidable ; but others, with less advantages, have suc-

-teedca, and been blessings to society, aiid an honor to

• tneir profession.

I Ed'v. You have chosen the better part. Whatever
f the licentious may say to the contrary, the happiness
ot society must rest on the principles of virtue and re-
ligion ; and the pulpit must be the nm-serv, where
they are cultivated.

TTio. The pulpit;

And I name it, fill'd with solemn awe,
Must stand acknowledgM, while the world shall stanel,
Ifte most important and effectual guard,
J^upport and ornament of - ; tue's cause.
There stands the messenger of truth. There stands
1 he le,gate of the skies : his theme divine,
His office sacred, hig credentials clear.
; ay him the violated law speaks out
Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet
\?"^^^^ "s^' the gospel whispers peace."
My heart glows with the subject ; and if my abilit-'es
jTOuld equal my zeal, I could at lea«t hope to realize
Ahe sublime character so beautil^.illy dro.wn by Cowper.
-^ JLdw. It is a laudable ambition to aim at eminence
*^ religion, and excellence in, virtue.

Speech

151 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR,

Speech of Buonaparte, Commander in Chief or
THE French Army in Italy, before his At-
tack ON Milan, April 26, 17%.

4

Soldiers,

YOU have in a fortnight gained six victories;
taken twcntv-onc stands of colours ; seventy-one
])ieccs of cannon"'; several strong places ; conquered
the richest part of Piedmont ; you have made fifteen ^
thousand prisoners, and killed or wounded more than ^i
ten thousand men. You had hitherto fought only for ;
sterile rocks, rendered illustrious by your courage, but
u.^eless to the country ; you have equalled by your ser- i
vices the victorious army of Holland and the Khine«
Deprived of every thin,2;, you have supplied every
thins. You have won battles without cannon ; made
forced marches without shoes ; watched without brandy,
and often without bread. The republican phalanxes,
the soldiers of liberty were lone capable of suflering
what you have suffered.

Tiianks be to you, -soldiers. The grateful country
AviU, in part, be indebted to you for her prosperity;
and if, vvhen victorious ?.i Toulon, you predicted the
immortal campaign of 1794, your present victories wili
be the presages of moi-e brilliant victories. 1 he tvso
armies which attacked you with audacity, fly di--.heart-
ened before vou. Men, who smiled at your inisei-y, -,
and rejoiccd'in thought at the idea of the triumphs ot
vour enemies, are confounded and appalled. But it,
must not, soldiers, be concealed from you, that youi|
have done vothlns: since .something remains yet to be^
done. Neither 1'urin nor MiU^n are in your poweiv
The ashes of the conquerors of the Tarqunis are stiM
disgraced by the assassins of Basseville. At the com-
mencement of the campaign you were destitute ot ev-
ery thing ; now you are amply provided ; the m^j^^

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 155

zines taken from your enemies arc numerous ; the ar-
tillery for the field and for besieging is arrived.

Soldiers, the country has a right to expect great
things from you ; justify her expectations. The great-
est obstacles are undoubtedly overcome ; but you have
still battles to fight, cities to take, rivers to pass. Is
there one among you whose courage is diminished ? Is
there one who would prefer returning to the summits
of the Alps and the Appenines ? No : all burn with
J the desire of extending the glory of the French; to
' humble the proud kings who dare to meditate putting
f us again in chains ; to dictate a peace that shall be glo-
rious, and that shall indemnify the country for the
immense sacrifices which she has made. All of you
burn with a desire to say on your return to your home,
I belonged to the victorious army of Italy.

Friends, I promise this conquest to you ; but there

is one condition which you must swear to fulfil ; it is

to respect the people whom you deliver ; to repress

the horrible pillage which some wTetches, instigated by

our enemies, had practised. Unless you do this, you

will no longer be the friends, but the scourges of the

human race ; you will no longer form the honor of

the French people. They will disavow you. Your

» victories, your successes, the blood of your brethren

■ who died in battle ; all, even honor and glory will

be lost. With respect to myself ; to the generals who

possess your confidence, we shall blush to command an

^-rarmy without dicipline, and who admit no other law

' than that of force.

People of Italy, the French army comes to break
your chains ; the French peo})le are the friends of all
V people ; come with confidence to them ; your prop-
erty, religion, and customs shall be respected. We
make war as generous enemies ; and wish only to make
war against the tyrants who oppress you.

Mr.

15« THE COLUMBlAxN ORATOR. .

==^===================^ I

Mr. Pitt's Speech, Nov. 13, 1777, in Opposition
TO Lord- Suffolk, who proposed to Parlia-
ment TO employ THE INDIANS AGAINST THE AME-
RICANS ; AND WHO SAID, IN THE CoURSE OF THE

Debate, that " they had a Right to use all
THE Means, that God and Nature had put
INTO THEIR Hands, to conquer America.''

My Lohds,

I AM astonished to hear such principles confessed!
I am shocked to hear them avowed in this House,
or in this country ! Princi j)les, equally unconstitutional,
iirimman, and unchristian!

My lords, I did not intend to have encroached
-ain on your attention ; but I cannot repress my in-
durnation. I feel myself impelled by every duty. My
lords, we are csilled" upon as members of this House,
-s men as Christian men, to protest against such notions
standing near the throne, polluting the ear of Majesty.
'' That God and nature put into our hands !" 1 Know
not what ideas that lord may entertain of God and
nature ; but I know, that such abominable principles
are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity.

What ! to attribute the sacred sanction of God anci
nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping-knifc :
to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, roasting,
a.^d eatin-; 'literally, my lords, eating the mangled
y-r-tims of his barbarous battles! Such horrible notions
•^hock every precept of religion, divine or natura , and
every crencrous feeling of humanity. And, my ords,
they shock every sentiment of honor; they shock me
as a lover of honorable war, and a dctester of murder-
ous barbarity. -u • o
These abominable principles, and this more abomina-
ble avowal of them, demand the most decisive indigna-
tion. I call upon that Right Reverend Bench, those holy
' ministers

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 157

ministers of the gospel, and pious pastors of our C:iurch :
I conjure them to join in the holy v/ork, and vindicate
the religion of their God. I appeal to the wisdom and
the law of this learned bench, to defend and support
the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops
to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their laicn ; upon
the learned judges, to interpose the purit} of their
ennine, to save us from this pollution. I call upon
the honor of your lordships, to reverence the dignity
of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call
upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindi-
cate the national character, I invoke the genius of the
constitution.

From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the im-
mortal ancestor of this noble lord frowns with indigna-
tion at the disgrace of his country. In vain he led
your victorious fleets against the boasted armada of
Spain ; in vain he defended and established the honor,
the liberties, the religion, the protestant religion of this
country, against the arbitrary cruelties of popery and
the inquisition, if these more than popish cruelties and
inquisitorial practices are let loose among us ; to tuTn
forth into our settlements, among our ancient connex-
ions, friends, and relations, the merciless cannibal,
thirsting for tlic blood of man, woman and child ! to
send forth the infidel savage — against whom ^ against
your protestant brethren ; to lay waste their country \
to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race
and name, with these horrible bell-hounds of savage war!

Spain armed herself with blood-hounds, to extirpate
the wretched natives of America ; and wc improve on
the inhuman example even of Spanish cruelty. We
turn loose these savage hell-hounds against our brethren
and countrymen in America, of the same language,
laws, liberties, and religion ; endeared to us by every
tie that should sanctify humanity.

My lords, this awful subject, so important to our

hons/, our constitution, and our religion, demands the

most solemn and effectual inquiry. And I again call

O upon

158 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

upon your lordships, and the united powers of the ^
State, to examine it thoroughly, and decisively, and toi^
5tamp upon it an indelible stigma of the public abhor-
rence. And I again implore those holy prelates oi our
relidon, to do away these initiuitics kom among u?.
Let them perform a lustration; let them purity tl.is
House, and this country from this sin.

My lords, 1 am old and weak, and at present una-
ble to say more ; but my feelings and indignation were
too strong to have said less. I could not have slept this
night in my bed, nor reposed my head on my pillow,
without giving this vent to my eternal abhorrence ot
such preposterous and enormous principles.

i

Dialogue between a School-Master, and School-

COiMMITTEE,

fN. B. The Author is happy in believing, that the fol-
lowing Dialogue is applicable to but few towns and lew
teachers in this country ; but, so long as there are any
remaining to zohom it may apply, he thinks a svjficicnt
apology exists for its publication.']

SCENE, a Public House, in the Town of

Enter School-Master, with a pack on his back,

HOW fare you, landlord ? what have
you got that's good to drink ?

Landlord. I have gin, West-In5ia, genuine Ncw-
Eno-land, whiskey, and cider brandy.

Schoolm. Make us a stiff mug of sling. Put in a
gill and a half of your New-England; and sweeten
ft well with lasses. • .

Land. It shall be done, Si.', to your liking.

Schoolm. Do you know of any vacancy in a school
in your part of the country, landlord ? ^

Land. There is a vacancy in our district ; and l^ ex-
port tho pardon, with our three schcol-comrrattce men.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. lo9

will be at my house directly, to consult upon matters
relative to the school.

Schoohu Well, here's the lad that will serve them
as cheap as any man in America ; and I believe I na^
venture to say as tvcII too ; for I proiess no small share
of ^kiU in that business. 1 have kept school eleven Vvin-
tors and have often had matter of fifty scholars at a
time'. I have teach'd a child its letters in a day, and
to read in the Fsaher in a fortnight : and I always feei^
verv much ashamed, if I use more than one quire oi
paper in larnin a boy to write as well as his master.
As for aovernnient, I'll turn my back to no man. i
never floe mv scholars ; foi' that monstrous doctrine o
whippin children, which has beeii 'o long preached
and practised by our rigid and super.siiuous forefathers
I have long since exploded. I have a rare knack oi
flattering them into their duty. And this, according
to a celebrated Doctor at Philadelphia, whose works 1
have heard of, though I never read them, is the grand
criterion of school government. It is, landlord, it is
the very philosopher's stone. I am told, likewise,
that this same great Doctor does not believe that bolo-
mon and others really meant licken in the proper
sense of the word, when they talked so much about
usincr the rod, &c. He supposes that they meant con-
fining them in dungeons ; starving them for three or
four days at a time ; and then giving them a potion ol
tatromattucks, and such kinds of mild punishment.
And, zounds, landlord, 1 believe he's above half right.

Land {living the cup to the Master.] Master-—
What may I call your name, Sir, if 1 may be so bold :
Schoohyi. Ignoramus, at your service. Sir.
Land. Master Ignoramus, I am glad to see you-.
Vou are the very man we wish for. Our committee
won't hesitate a moment to employ you, when they
become acquainted with your talents. Your senti-
ments on government I know will suit our people to a
nicety. Our last master was a tyrant of a fellow, and
very extravagant in his price. He- grew so important,
•^ the

itiO THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

the latter part of his lime, that he had the frontery to
demand te7i doltars a month and his board. And he
iriight truly be said to rule with a rod of iron ; for he
kept an ironwood cudgel in his school, four feet long ;
cind it was enough to chill one's blood to hear the
!nhrieks of the little innocents, which were caused by
his barbarity. I have heard my wife sav, that Sue
Gossip told her, that she has seen the marks of his lashes
©n the back of her neighbour Rymple's son Darling,
for twelve hours after the drubbing. At least, the
f)oy told her with his own mouth, that they might be
^oen, if they would only take the trouble to strip his
-i.irt off. And, besides, master Ignoramus, he was the
iiost niggardly of all the human race. I don't suppose
rhat my bar-room was one dollar the richer for him,
in the course of the whole time which he tamed with
!is. While the young people of the towa were recreatino-
themselves, and taking a sociable glass, of an evening, al
my house, the stupid blockhead was etarnally in his
•:hamber, poring over his musty books. But finally he
did tho job for himself, and I am rejoiced. The wretch
had the dacity to box little Sammy. Puny's cars at
such an intolerable rate, that his parents fear the poor
child will be an idiot all the days of his life. And all
this, for nothing more, than, partly by design, and partly
Through m.ere accident, he happened to spit in his mas-
ter's face. The child being nephew to the 'squire^
you may well suppose, that the whole neighbourhood
was soon in an uproar. The indignation of the mother,
father, aunts, uncles, cousins, and indeed the whole cir-
•le of acquaintance, was roused ; and the poor fellow
"^s hooted out of town in less than twenty-four hom*s.
Schuolm, [Drinkiiig off his liquor,'] This is a rare
:ose. Believe me, landlord, I have not tasted a drop
before, since six o'clock this morning. [En^er Parson
>md' Committee Men.'] Your humble sarvant, gen-
;lemen. I understand you are in want of a school-
iTiaster, ' Parson.

c

'yp. s

a

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 161

Parson. Yes, Sir ; ihiit is the occasion of our pres-
ent meeting. We have been so unfortunate as to lose
one good man; and we should be very glad to fmd

^^^UL'^Committ^e Man. Pray donU say unfortunate.
Parson.* I think we may consider ourselves as very
fortunate, in having rid the town of an extravagant
coxcomb, who was draining us of all the money we
could earn, to fill his purse, and rig himself out witH

line clothes. , , , i r „ «

2d. Com. Ten dollars a^ month, and board, tor a
man whose task is so easy, is no small sum.

3d. Com. 1 am bold to affirm, that we can procure
a better man for half the money.

Schoobn. That 1 believe, friend ; for, though 1 es-
teem myself as good as the best ; that is to say m the
common way; yet 1 never ax'd but five dollars a

month in all my life. .i « ?^

Par. For my own part, whatever these gentlemen s
opinion may be, 1 must tell you, that I am much les^
concerned 4bout the wages we are to give, than 1 am
abont the character and abilities of the man with whom
we intrust the education of our children. I had much
rather you had said you had received forty dollars a
month,* than five. -^

1 St. Com. Dear Sir, you are beside yourselt. Y ou
will encourage the man to rise in his price ; whereas 1
was in hopes he would have/a//e/i, afleast one dollar.
Par. Before we talk any further about the price, it
is necessary that we examine the gentleman according
to law, in order to satisfy ourselves of his capability to
serve us. Friend, will you be so obliging as to inform
us where you received your education, and what your
pretensions are, with respect to youi profession /
Schoolm. Law, Sir ! 1 never went to college m my

^ %ar. I did not ask you whether you had been to
coUe'-rp or not. We wish to know what education you
have'had ; and ^^ether your abiliues are such, as that

0 2 y^^,

*62 THE COLUMBIA.\ ORATOR l'

c:z ts^tlir ^" '-'^'-^ "-^ ^"^-^e or a

ofttm F,.r '""'"• ' "'" S'- y"-- » ^hort history

flewspaperwi.homltl' ' "]'^ T"'^' ''^^'^ 'he

By this time frpK P '? '"?''^ "■^" '^^"■"'e words.
I enltteral:o , ' fn't ,e a™'"'1, •h%--"'.o„ level.
years ; and made nch nlfi^' "'''^''^' ^°"'«"ed six

:~s s„%r' 5~iiV''"' *'"-™'

• JJ .»-> lorni how man, tori., core, i, ,oaW i.kc

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 163

'"sZl.. 1.M 1 kav., Sin .nJ it 1 k.<i <-'■ '
"fj'"S ;SS.""K ,»r. of .ho .-orld y..

"'£ZL. . ™ .o. ion, i» *. --iSjixrii;

£?,t,rrr»irfc5oi;!-co™.

»xr'V.';»u.sr«fp=:p..oho,.™

are in the English language ?

"S;Co*:p!e\feT;irt-asl<hirna^ciuesUon,Parso„.
"SL^;— IraTl t::v the. all before 1
"^ol' t *' 'S'you tell when the moon changes, ^j
'^ sSr No - but I'll warrant you, I could soon tell
'^/Z'^S^'How many varses are there in the 119th

^'SoLm. Ah ! excuse me there, if you please, Sir ;
I nter mecWlewith P-toody. or metapl^^.c.

Pnr Will vou te 1 me, my friend, what is inc uii
feilc" bllwee'n tl,. circumference and the diameter

°^ 'thit"" ■ There vou arc too hard for me again. 1

»64 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR

Z:Z^^';lT ^=''~''"-'- l-'-n- and there!

one, tl,a, it woulj hat:"' ',;' £ T^^ur " T.'^'f ^"'
answered it. Gentlemen th^ll,'"' '"'"'''"^ '° ''^^e
few minutes, for o^'T,rtirtaT.rr "'""'^^"^ ^

ch erfully agre: t^LplX ' ^""^ ^ "'^ ' ^'^^"

a c4^""- ,te';°''a":cl C'n' ' r°"'' *'"'^ ^^'^ ^l^^'" ^nd
Pof. G::l^r^::^Z^^^t'^Sh^t once.

own interest ? I can savVw if ^?" ""^ ""''"^ '° >'oi>r,
satisfied-thattheman i{ K ^ "; "'?' ' ^^ P^'-f^"'y '

«i>at he calls wS by ''i':':"'r"°"'""p'"''^^"^

;;. ly mcapablo of instru'cli g :'.r hfld;:"""^/']:^ '°-
not who he is, or wlnt 1,» ;? "''-""•J'en. You know

offers himseff ot H't„ ''"^ •''™'' «" "^ch he

against him J^t slnsTbrtlf.r ' '"'^'^''^f "^bj^^''""
- avail, since y^^ aU t'el^t - "- be of,
years sir vine to nroni.-*. , „ ^ f i ■J.^'^ "cen for
suitable for tlte Svlom ^^ '^'"''' ""^ '"°'-='''-
«ai"ed ; but, alas / we wpi '^ '"f ^ ""' ' l^^d ob-
aspersed hi eharact^^r-nvent^dT''^, •°^''''"• ^'

"nu-orthiness, has left us w"ef et'' °"" '^°"''' ^"^ »"'

-eit^'Ai oter;'rnrt"o''r^^^^'-^"'-y

which they never earnedt bm it w^nt do'^-f h"°"^^
master, I dare en^qo-p Jii 7 ,, ^* The new

he old one SlWl 1)1 ^ -'f ' ^' better than
Par lLr.f ? ' ^^^^ ^^^ ^'^ ^01* his answer

•^ iorever Irom the committee. But 1 must

tell

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 165

t^il you, yonr children will reap the bitter consequences
of such injudicious measures. It has always been
surprising lo me, that people in general arc more will-
in^ to pay their money lor any thing else, than tor
« the one thing needi^ar," that is, for the education of
their children. Their taylqr must be a workman, their
carpenter, a workman, their hair-dresser, a workman,
their hosder, a workman ; but the instructor of their

children must work cheap ! ^ [Exit Pardon.

Re-enter Sciiool-?vIaster.

1 St, Com. We have agreed to employ you^ Sir ; and
have only to recommend to you, not to follow the
steps of your predecessor. This is an " age of reason ;"
and we do not imagine our children so stupid, as to
need the rod to quicken their ideas, or so vicious, as to
require a moral lesson from the ferule. Be gentle and
accommodating, and you have nothing to fear.

Land. V\\ answer for him. He's as generous and
merry a lad as I've had in my house this many a day.

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech, in AxVswer to
Lord Mansfield, on the Affair of Mr.
Wilkes, 1770.

My Lords,

THERE is one plain maxim, to which 1 have in-
variably adhered through life ; that in every
question in which my liberty or my property wore
concerned, I should consult and be determined by tae
dictates of common sense. I confess, my lords, that I
am apt to distrust the refinements of learning, because
I have seen the ablest and most learned men equaUy
liable to deceive themselves, and to mislead others.

The condition of human nature would be lamenta*
ble indeed, if nothing less than the greatest learning
and talents, which fall to the share of so small a num-
ber of m«n, were sufficient to direct our judgment and

our

166 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

our conduct. But Providence has taken better care of
our happiness, and given us, in the simplicity of com-
mon sense, a rule for our direction, by which we shall
never be misled.

I confess, my lords, I had no other guide in drawing
up the amendment, which I submitted to your consid-
eration. And before I heard the opinien'of the noble
lord who spoke last, I did not conceive, that it w^as
even within the limits of possibility for the greatest hu-
man genius, the most subtle understanding, or the
acutcst wit, so strangely to misrepresent my meaning ;
and to give it an interpretation so entirely foreign from
w^hat I intended to express, and from that sense, which
the very terms of the amendment plainly and distinctly
carry with them.

If there be the smallest foundation for the censure
thrown upon me by that noble lord ; if, either express-
ly or by the most distant implication, I have said or in-
sinuated any part of what the noble lord has charged
me with, discard my opinions forever; discard the
motion with contempt.

My lords, I must beg the indulgence of the House.
Neither will my health permit me, nor do I pretend
to be qualified, to follow that learned lord minutely
through the whole of his argument. No man is better
acquainted with his abilities and learning, nor has a
greater respect ior them, than I have. I have had the
pleasure of sitting w^ith him in the other House, and
always listened to him with attention. I have not now
lost a word of what he said, nor did I ever. Upon the
present question, I meet him without fear.

The evidence, which truth carries with it, is supe-
rior to all argun)cnts ; it neither wants the support,
noi- dreads the opposition of the greatest abilities. If
there be a single v.ord in the amendment to justify the
interpretation, which the noble lord has been pleased
to give it, I am ready to renounce the whole. Let it
be read, my lords ; let it speak for itself. In what
instance does it interfere with the privileges of the

House

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 167

House of Commons ? In what respect does it question
their jurisdiction, or suppose an authority io this House
lo arraign the justice of their sentence ?

I am sure that every lord who hears me, will bear
me witness that I said not one word touching the mer-
its of the Middlesex election. Far from conveying
any opinion upon that matter in the amendment, I
did not, even in discourse, deliver my own sentiments
upon it. I did not say that the House of Commons
had done either right or wrong ; but when his Majesty
was pleased to recommend it to us to cultivate unanim-
ity amongst ourselves, I thought it the duty of this
House, as the great hereditary council of the crown,
to state to his Majesty the distracted condition of his
dominions, together with tho events which had destroy-
ed unanimity among his subjects.

But, my lords, I stated those events merely as facts,
without the smallest addition either of censure or of
opinion. They are facts, my lords, which I am not
only convinced are ti-ue, but w hich I know are indis-
putably true.

Do they not tell us, in so many words, that Mr.
Wilkes, having been expelled, was thereby rendered
incapable of serving in that Parliament ? and is it not
their resolution alone, which refuses to the subject his
common right ? The amendment says farther, that
the electors of Middlesex are deprived of their free
choice of a representative. Is this a fact, my lords ?
or have I given an unfair representation of it ? Will
any man presume to affirm that Colonel Luttiell is the
free choice of the electors of Middlesex ? We all
know the contrary.

/ We all know that Mr. W'ilkes (who;n I mention
without either praise or censure) was me favourite of
the county, ana chosen, by a xcry great and acknowl-
edged majority, to represent them ii Parliament. If
the noble lord dislikes the manner ii which these facts
are stated, I shall think myself hai^:)y in being advised
hy him how to alter it. I am ver; little anxious about

terms,

168 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

terms, provided the substances be preserved ; and thes«
are facts, my lords, which I am sure will always retain
their weight and importance, in whatever form of Ian-
gi?age they are described.

The constitution of this country has been openly in-
vaded in fact ; and J have heard, with horror and aston-
ishment, that very invasion defended upon principle.
What is this mysterious power, undefmed by law, un-
known to the subject; which we must not approach
without awe, nor speak of without reverence ; which
no man may question, and to which all men must sub-
mit ? My lords, I thought the slavish doctrine of pas-
sive obedience had long since been exploded: and,
when our kings were obliged to confess that their title
to the crov/n, and the rule of their government, had
no other foundation than the known laws of the land,
I never expected to hear a divine right, or a divine in-
fallibility, attributed to any other branch of the legis-
lature.

My lords, I beg to be understood. No man respects
the House of Commons more than I do, or would con-
tend more strenuously than I would, to preserve to
them their just and legal authority. ^ Within tiie
bounds prescribed by the constitution, that authority
is necessary to the well-being of the people : beyond
that line, every exertion of poxver is arbitrary, is ille-
gal; it threatens tyranny to the people, and destruc-
tion to the state. Power without right is the most
odious and detestable object that can be offered to the
human imagination : it is not only pernicious to those
who are subject to it, but tends to its own destruction.

tOw

THE COLUMBIAN 0RAT0i4 169

On the general Judgment-Day ; from Dwight^s
Conquest of Canaan.

MID these dire scenes, more awful scenes shall rise ;
Sad nations quake, and trembling seize the skies.
From the dark tomb shall fearful lights ascend,
And sullen sounds the sleeping mansion rend ;
Pale ghosts with terror break the dreamer's charm,
And death-like cries the listening world alarm.
Then midnight pangs shall toss the cleaving plains ;
Fell famine w^anton o'er unburied trains ;
From crumbling mountains baleful flames aspire ;
Realms sink in floods, and towns dissolve in fire ;
In every blast, the spotted plague be driven,
And angry meteors blaze athwart the heaven.
Clouds of dark blood shall blot the sun's broad light,
Spread round th' immense,and shroud the Avorld in night ;
With pale and dreadful ray, the cold moon gleam ;
The dim, lone stars diffuse an anguish'd beam ;
Storms rock the skies ; afflicted oceans roar.
And sanguine billows dye the shuddering shore ;
And round earth thunder, from th' Almighty throne,
The voice irrevocable, IT IS DONE.

Rous'd on the fearful morn, shall nature hear
The trump's deep terrors rend the troubled, air ;
From realm to realm the sound tremendous roll ;
Cleave the broad main, and shake th' astonish'd pole ;
The slumbering bones th' archangels call inspire ;
Rocks sink in dust, and earth be wrapt in fire ;
From realms far distant, orbs unnumber'd come,
Sail through immensity, and learn their doom :
And all yon changeless stars, that, thron'd on high,
Reign in immortal lustre round the sky,
In solemn silence shroud their livirtg light.
And leave the world to undistinguished night.

Hark, what dread sounds descending from the pole,
Wave following wave, in swelling thunders roll !

P How

i

170 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

How the tombs cleave ! What awful forms arise !
What crowding nations pain the failing eyes !
From land to land behold the mountains rend ;
From shore to shore the fmal flames ascend ;
Round the dark poles with boundless terror reign,
With bend immeasurable sweep the main ;
From morn's far kingdoms stretch to realms of even
And climb and climb with solemn roar to heaven.
What smoky ruins wrap the lessening ground !
What fiery sheets sail through the vaulted round !
Pour'd in one mass, the lands and seas decay ;
Involv'd, the heavens, dissolving, fleet away;
The moon departs ; the sun's last beams expire,
And nature's buried in the boundless fire.

Lo, from the radiance of the blest abode
Messiah comes, in all the pomp of God !
Borne on swift winds, a storm before him flies ;^
Stars crown his head, and rainbows round him rise ;
Beneath his feet a sun's broad terrors burn,
And cleaving darkness opes a dreadful morn :
Through boundless space careering flames are driven ;
Truth's sacred hosts descend, and all the thrones of

heaven.
See crowding millions, call'd from earth's far ends,
See hell's da'i'k world, with fearful gloom, ascends,
In throngs incomprehensible ! Around,
Worlds after worlds, from nature's farthest bound*
Call'd by th' archangel's voice from either pole,
Self-mov'd, with all created nations, roll.
From this great ti-ain, his eyes the just divide,
Price of his life, and being's fairest pride;
Rob'd by his mighty hand, the starry throngs
From harps of transport call ecstatic songs.
Hail, heirs of endless peace ! ordain'd to rove
Round the pure climes of everlasting iove.
For you the sun first led the lucid morn ;
The world was iashion'd and Messiah t)orn ;
For you high heavcu v/ith fond impatience waits,
Paurs her tair streams, and opes her golden gates ;

' Eac

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 171

Ji^ach hour, with purer glory, gaiiy shines,
Her courts enlarges, and her air refines.

But O unhappy race ! to woes consignM,
Lur'd by fond pleasure, and to wisdom blind,
What new Messiah shall the spirit save,
Stay the pent flames, and shut th' eternal grave?
Where sleeps the music of his voice divine ?
Where hides the face, that could so sweetly shine ?
Now hear that slighted voice to thunder turn !
See that mild face with flames of vengeance burn !
High o'er your heads the storm of ruin roars,
And, round th*' immense, no friend your fate deplores.

Lo, there to endless woe in throngs are driven,
What once were angels, and briglu stars of heaven !
The world's gay pride ! the king with splendor crown'd f
The chief resistless, and the sage renown'd !
Down, down, the millions sink ; where yon broad main
Heaves her dark waves, and spreads the seats of pain ;
Where long, black clouds, emblaz'd with awful fire,
Pour sullen round their heads, and in dread gloom retire.

On the works of Creation and Providence.

T/^HEN I contemplate those ample and magnifi-
cent structures, erected over all the ethereal
plains : when I look upon them as so many reposito-
ries of light, or fruitful abodes of life : when I remem-
ber that there may be other orbs, vastly more remote
than those which appear to our unaided sight ; orbs,
whose cftulgence, though travelling ever since the cre-
ation, is not yet arrived upon our coasts: when I stretch
,tny thoughts to the innumerable orders of being, which
inhabit all those spacious systems ; fi'om the loftiest ser-
aph, to the lowest reptile ; from the armies of angels
v-hich surround the Almighty's throne, to the puni/ na-
tions, which tinge with purple the surface of the plum.
or mantle the standing pool with green ; how varioMS

appear

172 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. -

appear the links of this immeasurable chain ! how vast
the gradations ia this universal scale of existence ! Yet
all these, thouj;-h ever so vast and vai'ious, arc the work
of the Creator's hand, and are full of his presence.

He rounded in his palm those stupendous globes,
Avhich are pendulous in the vault of heaven. lie kin-
dled those astonishingly bright fires, which till the firma-
ment with a flood of giory. By Him they are suspend-
ed in fluid ether, and cannot be sha]<en : by Him they
dispense a perpetual tide of beams, and are never ex-
hausted. He formed, with inexpressible nicety, that
<lelicately line ccllectioi3 of tubes ; that unknown mul-
tiplicity of subtle springs, which organize and actuate
the frame of the minutest insect.

He bids the crimson current roll ; the vital move-
ments play ; and associates a world of wonders^ even in
an animated point. In all these is a signal exhibition
of creating power : to all these are extended the special
regards of preserving goodness. From hence let me
learn to rely on the providence, and to revere the pres-
ence, of Supreme Majesty. Amidst that inconceivable
number and variety of beings, which swarm through
the regions of creation, not one is overlooked, not one
is neglected, by the great Omnipotent Cause of all.

Speech of Mr. Fox, in, the British Parliament,
ON American Affairs, 1778.

YOU have now two wars before you, of which you
must choose one, for both you cannot support.
The war against America has hitherto been carried on
against her alone, unassisted by any ally whatever.
Notwithstanding she stood alone, you have been obliged
uniformly to increase your exertions, and to push your
efforts to the extent of your power, without being able
to bring it to an issue. You have exerted all your force
hitherto without effect, and you cannot now divide a
f©rce, found alrssady inadequate to it-s ©bject.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 173

My opinion is for withdi-awing your forces from
America entirely ; for a defensive war you can never
think of there. A defensive war would ruin this nation
at any time ; and in any circumstances, offensive war
is pointed out as proper for this country ; our situation
points it out ; and the spirit of the nation impels us to
attack rather than defend. Attack France, then, for
she is your object. The nature of the wars is quite dif-
ferent : the war against Amei'ica is against your own
countrymen ; you have stopped me from saying against
your fellow subjects ; that against France is against
your inveterate enemy and rival. Every blow you sti-^kc
in America is against yourselves ; it is against all idea
of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though
you should be able, as you never will be, to force them
to subm.it. Every stroke against France is of advantage
to you : America must be conquered in France ; Fra.nce
never can be conquered in America.

The war of the Americans is a war of passion ; it is of
such a nature as to be supported by the most powerful
virlucs, love of liberty and of their country ; and, at the
same time, by those passions in the human heart which
give courage, strength, and perseverance to man ; the
spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them ;
of retaliation for the hardships you have inflicted on
them ; and of opposition to the unjust powers you have
exercised over them. Every thing combines to animate
them to this war, and such a war is without end ; for
whatever obstinacy, enthusiasm ever inspired man with,
you will now find in America. No matter what gives
birth to that enthusiasm ; whether the name of religion
or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires a spirit
which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo dif-
ficulty, danger, and hardship : and as long as there is
a man in America, a being formed such as we are, you
will have him present himself against you in the field.

The war of France is a war of another sort ; the war
©f France is a war of interest : i^ was her interest which
first induced her to engage in it, and it is by that inter-
¥2 est.

174 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

est that she will measure its continuance. Turn your
face at once against her ; attack her wherever she is
exposed ; crush her commerce v^^herever you can ; make
her feel heavy and immediate distress throughout the
nation : the people will soon cry out to their govern-
ment. Whilst the advantages she promises herself are
remote and uncertain, inflict present evils and distresses
upon her subjects : the people will become discontented
and clamorous ; she will find it a bad bargain, having
entered into this business ; and you will force her to
desert any ally that brings so much trouble and distress
upon her.

What is become of the ancient spirit of this nation?
Where is the national spirit that ever did honor to this
country? Have the present ministry spent that too,
with almost the last shilling of your money ? Are they
not ashamed of the temporizing conduct they have used
towards France ? Her correspondence with America
has been clandestine. Compare that with their conduct
towards Holland, some time ago ; but it is the charac-
teristic of little minds to be exact in little things, whilst
they shrink from their rights in great ones.

The conduct of France is called clandestine : look
back but a year ago to a letter from one of your Sec*
retaries of State of Holland ; '* it is with surprise and
indignation" your conduct is seen, in something done
by a petty governor of an island, while they affect to
call the measures of France clandestine. This is the
way that ministers support the character of the nation,
^nd the national honor and glory. But look again how
that same Holland is spoken of to-day. Even in yotir
correspondence with her your littleness appears.

From this you may judge of your situation ; fro]
Hiis you may know what a state you are reduced to:
ilow will the French party in Holland exuU over you,
and grow strong ! She will never continue your ally,
when you meanly crouch to France, and do not dare
to stir in your defence ! But it is nothing extraordinary
that she should not, while vou keep the ministers you

hav '

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 175

have. No power in Europe is blind ; there is none
blind enough to ally itself with weakness, and be-
«ome partner in bankruptcy; there is no one blind
enough to ally themselves to obstinacy, absurdity, and
imbecility.

The Conjurer, a Dialogue.

Richard and Jack.

T '^h '\l^^^ ^ strange man this is, Richard! Did:
flc . y y ^.^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^ conjurer before ?

Richard. 'There was one travelled this way before
your remembrance ; but he missed his figure very much.
I was to have been an otiicer before this time, accord-
ing to his predictions; and you, Jack, were to have
had a fine rich young lady for your sister-in-law. But
he was only an apprentice in the art ; no more than
A, B, C, to this man.

Jhck. Aye, he is master of his trade, I warrant
you. I dare say, when father comes home, he can tell,
him which way the thief is gone with our old Trot.
Uncle Bluster is coming over here this evening to find
out who has got his watch. The conjurer is just
gone out to look at the stars. I suppose, after he has
viewed them a while, he will cast a ligure in his great
black-art book in the other room, aad tell in a trice
what things are stolen, and where they are, to a hair's
breadth.

. Rich. He must have a hawk's eye to see the stan
this evening. Why don't you know. Jack, it is cloudy
out a'doors ?

' Jack, That's nothing with him. He could look
through the clouds with h;s glass, if it was as dark as
Egypt, as easy as you can look into the other room ; or,^
if he had a mind, he could brush away the clouds in a
trice, with that long wand he carries in his hand.

Rich, No doubt he is a great almanac maker. ^ V\\
be bouftd he could foretel the weathjer to a tittle for a

thousand

m THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. \

thousand years to come. I wish I knew the tenth part
as much about the planets as he docs.

Jack, So do I. Don't you think our neighbours
could hire him to keep our school, instead of 'Master
Thinkwell ? I believe he has fifty times as much learn-
ing. Aunt Betty told me this afternoon, that he knew.
every star in the sky as well as I do the cattle ia our
stable ;and that he was as well acquainted with every
crook and turn in the milky- way, as I am with the
road to mill. They say he rode round to all the plan--
ets one night, in a chaise made of moon-light, drawn
by flying horses. 1

Conjurer. \^W{tho}it, in a grum hollovt voice,^ Hoc '
noxe conventio planetorum tenetur est in domus
Jovum.

Rich, Hark! he is going by the window :. don't
you hear him talking to himself?

Jack, What a strange language he uses I He is
talking to the man in the moon, 1 dare say. He will-
go into the back room and cast a figure now : I will look.,
through the key-hole and see him. [Exit Jack, t

Rich, \_Solus.'] What a prodigious learned man this ^
conjurer must be ! I should suppose he had read ail the
books in the world, and •onversed with spirits a hun-
dred years, to know as much as he does.
Enter Thinkwell.

lam glad to see you. Master Thinkwell. Have you-
heard the rare news of the conjurer that is come to
town ?

Thinkwell, Yes ; and I am informed he has taken
up lodgings at your house to-night. You are greatly
honored to be sure.

Rich, He is a very extrao^inary man, I'll assure you.

Think, So far I agree with you, Richard. I believe^
he is an extraordinary man, and an extraordinary im-
postor too.

Rich, You are always on the side of contraries, Mas-
ter Thinkwell ; but every body is not of so stubborn
Ibiith as you. Why, there is as great a st^ m. town as

there

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 177

'there wos when Prince Edward v/ent through it. All
the ladies are as miich in the fidgets to see the con-
jurer, as they were to sec him.

Think. It is much easier to account for those things
than to justify them. We shall always act beneath our-
selves, while we look up to worthless wTCtchcs as our
superiors. Prince Edward was certainly no more than a
man. This conjurer, in my opinion, is much less : I
consider him beneath co» tempt. I am as great a
friend to mirth as yourself; but it is really mortifying
•that my friends should be so anxious to make them-
selves the objects of ridicule.

Rich, This is your old strain, Master Think well.
I know you are apt to get round me in your arguments ;
but I believe the conjurer knows much more than both
of us. I might go to you to learn grammar, arithmetic,
and the common bra^iches that arc taught at school ;
but I shall go to him to have my fortune told.

Think, Have patience ; and time, the only true
fortune-teller, will disclose the future, v/ithout any paj^
fast enough for your happiness or profit. Let me ad-
vise you to lay out your money for more valuable com-
modities than such gross imposition. Believe me, Rich-
ard, this man was never admitted into the cabinet of
futurity any more than you or I, and knows no more
of the events of to-morrow, next day, or next year,
than the orang outang.

Rich. Allour neighbours think very difierendy. He
has told Mrs. Primblc where she may find her silver
spoon ; and Sam Hodkins, the very day he is to be
married ; and the very first moment he cast his eyes on
Bill Blunders face, he saw the scar on his foot, and
ytold him he had been wounded with an axe.
' Tliink. Depend on it, Richard, it is all gross impo-
sition. What carel(*ss lad is there, who uses an 'axe,
that has not a scar on his feet ?

Rich, If a man of common learning can foretel what
is pa?t, I don't see, for my pcu't, wliy a conjurer may

not

178 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

liot foretel what is to come. [K'no eking at the door,], ^
Ah ! Aunt Betty Wrinkle, I know by her rap.
Enter Betty Wrinkle.
Bdty, Hov/ do you do, Richard? a word with
you, if you please, *cousin. [To Pkhard, They go
'to the other side of the room,] h the fortune-teller at
your house, Richard?

Rich. He is casting a figure in the back rooDi.
Betty, Can I sec- him ? 1 wish to ask him a few ques-
tions in private. _ |'
Enter Mrs. Credulous anc? Jack, in haste, ^
Mrs, Credulous. Law, sister Betty ! I am glad to see
you ! I am half frighted out of my senses !
Betty, What is the matter, sister ?
Mrs, Cred, I have been looking through the key-
hole to see the conjurer. I believe there is a spell of
enchantment upon him ! The room will be full of
spirits in five minutes !

Betty, O, don't be frighted, sister ; if he can conjure
them up, he can conjure them down again. He won't
let them hurt you. I shouldn't be afraid to go right
into the room among them, not L

Rich, If they were to come in the shape of widow-
ers or old bachelors, perhaps you. would not.

Betty, Law, how you joke, cousin. [Cuffing his ears,

Mrs, Cred. This is no jesting matter, 1 assure you.

I co\ild .%ce plainly the candle burnt blue ; there was a

circle of fire round his head, and it began to smoke

©ut of his mouth and nose.

Bet, Poh ! nothing more than his breath, Idare say.
Jack, And 1 thought I saw the shadow of a spirit.
The cat sav/ it too ; for she looked as wild as though
she would fly out of the window.

Betty, Weil, you won't frighten me^ I am determin-
ed to see him, if he breathes nothing but fire and smoke.
Conj, [Speaking loud in the other room,] Horum
qworum spiritorum, veniunto !

Mrs. Cred, Law me ! the very ghosts are come

novf ! he ia talking to them,

Thmki

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 179

Think, They will never understand him, unless he
uses better Latin.

Mrs, Cred, O, good master Think well ! you can
talk Latin; do go and pray them, for mercy's sake!
beseech them to leave the house. Do, quick !

Think, Do compose yourself, Mrs. Credulous : there
are no worse spirits here than ignorance and folly ; and
they, of all others, are the most incorrigible. If you
please, I will go and turn this scape-gallows out of
your house, and put an end to your fears. {Going,

Mrs, Cred, O, stop! don't think of such a thing
for the world. If you should aftront him, he would
raise a tempest and carry the house away in a minute.
Mercy on me ! he knows what you have said now !
how dark it grows ! O, the wind begins to rise ! I
will leave the house ! we shall all be flying in the air
in an instant!

Rich, Don't be so terrified, ma'am. I don't hear
any wind.

Jack, I do ; and see it too. [Looking out at the win-
dow.] Dear me ! how black it is !

Betti/, You are very much frighted, sister. For
my part, I am not afraid of the conjurer or any other
man.

Rich, You were never quite so shy 6f them as they
are of you.

Betty, Shy of me !

Mrs, Cred, Well, you must all take care of your-
selves. I will run over to Mr. Rector's the minister*
He may save the house ; he is a good man. What
would I give, if I had never seen this wicked conjurer !
[Going out of the door,] Mercy ! the ground rises up
under my feet; I can almost hear it thunder! Dear
me, I shall meet a spirit ! Master Thinkwell, you are
not apt to be frighted ; do go with me to the minister's.

Think, At your request I will. Tor your credit's
sake, compose yourselves, and let not this shameful af-
fair be related abroad. [Exit ThinkwclL

Baty,

130 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Betty, Vm sure I don't see any cause for all this
flu Iteration.

Jack, I believe I was more scared than hurt. The
cat, I see, has got over her fright : she is playing in
the entry as sprightly as you, aunt Betty.

Betty, Well said, Jack. [Patting his cheeks,'] Do
you think I could speak with the conjurer now, Rich-
ard ?

Rich, I see nothing of any spirits yet. We will
venture to go and see what he is about.

[They go out of the room,

SCENE changes, and discovers the Conjurer sitting at
a table and making characters in a large book. He
rises, takes his zvand, and moves it slowly round a
large circle, drawn on thejioor, and filled with char'
acters,

Betty, [Advancing slowly,] Law me, my heart is in
my mouth ! I dare riot speak to him. [She staiids and
looks at him, and on Richard and Jack at the other side
of the room alternately.]

Conj, Horum charactarius in hoc circulum omnes
planetorum atque eorum inhabitantibilsque recto repre-
sentur ; et atque genii spiritonimque.

Betty. Bless me ! what a world of learning he has !
I can't understand a word he says.

Jack, [To Richard.] That circle u full of spirits, 1
suppose^ He has made them put on their coats of air,
that we might not see thcnii

Conj. I perceive, lady, by the mystic characters of
this circle, you approach this way to inquire into the
occult mysteries of fate, and to know of me your future
destiny.

Betty, He knows my very thoughts. [Aside,] Learn-
ed Sir, be so good as to take this, and answer me a
few questions I shall ask you.

[Offering him a piece of money i

Conj, You must first answer me a few questions.
Your name, Madam ?

Betty*

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 181

Betty, Elizabeth Wrinkle, at your service, Sir.

Conj, [Writing her name in his book,'] Do you rec-
ollect whether the day that Burgoyne was captured
was clear or cloudy ?

Betti/. That was quite before my remembrance, Sir.
[Looki?ig in a glass,] I am sure nobody could take me
for more than tweiity-five. [Aside,

Co,j. I am not to be deceived, madam.

[Looking out at the zuindozu through his glass.

Jack, [To Richard,] Hark ! we shall know her
age now. He looks clear through time, with that glass,
as easy as you can look through a key-hole.
, Betti/, Good Sir, don't expose me ! pray speak low.

Conj, Young men, withdraw, and shut that door.

[Richard and Jack leave the room,

I told you I was not to be deceived. You were born,
Anno Domini, one thousand, seven hundred and —

Betty, Law me ! how should he know I was born in
fifty-five ? The treacherous stars miist have betrayed
me ; not my looks, 1 am sure. [Aside,

Conj. I tell you furthermore, the very man, w^hom
the fates had singled out for your husband, by the fatal
destiny of the stars, was slain at the taking of Burgoyne.

Betty, Dear me! O cruel stars, and more cruel
Britons ! how many husbands and wives have ye sep-
arated ! Were it not for you, I should have been mar-
ried twenty years ago. But since the fates have been
so very cruel, don't you think they will be so kind as

to provide me you know, what 1 mean, Mr. Con-

juier.

Conj. Another husband. I will inquire.

[Moving his zcand round the circle*
Enter Mr, Credulous and Bluster.

Betty, Law, brother, you have come in the very,
nick of time. I was just going to ask the Conjurer
about your horse.

Conj, By the mysterious numbers of this circle, and
the hidden virtue of this wand, I perceive you have
lost a horse. Cred.

182 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 1

Cred, You have cast your figure right. My poor
Trot has been gone ever since the twentieth day of
June.

Conj. [Moving his wand over the circle^ and touching
particular characters. Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Can-
cer ; that is it precisely. You are under a little mis-
take, Sir ; it was on the twentieth night of June.

Bluster, You are right, you arc right, Mister Con-
jurer. The same night I had my watch stolen.

Conj, Aries, March ; Taurus, April ; Gemini, May;
Cancer, June. On the night of June tv;entieth, pre-
cisely at twenty-three minutes past twelve, the horse
was stolen from your pasture, by a thief.

Blust, There, brother Credulous, you have it as
exact as the multiplication table.

Cred, Strange what learning will do ! [Giving
a piece of money to the. Conjurer,'^ Now, Sir, be so
good as to tcA^ me vhere the horse is, and how I shall
find the very mief. Rascal ! I shall have you now.

[To himself i

Conj, [Making characters in his book,] The stars
are inauspicious at present. Mercury, the patron of
thieves, bears rule to-night. I shall be able to detect
him to-morrow\ Hah ! that is a lucky figure. Quod
erat demonstrandum. I have got a clue to the watch
in .spite of Mercury.

Blust. Put me in a way of finding it, and you shall be
Wdii paid. We must secure our houses, brother Cred-
ulous, or this rogue of a Mercury Vv-ill h^ve our very
beds from under us, before morning.

Conj, It shall be forth coming immediately. [Figure

ing in his look,'] One hundrcdand twenty-seven rods

northeasterly from this table, in Chinese measure, lies a

hollow tree ; in that tree lies your watch.

Enter LoNGSTAFF, 071 Officer, two WiTif esses, and

Thinkwell.

Betty, Bless me ! half the town will be here : it is

time for me to 2^. [Exit.

* Blust.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 183

Blust. Mr. Longstaff, be so good as not to interrupt
the Conjurer. He has just told me where my watch is,
and will detect the thief with a few figures more.

Longstaff, My duty obliges me to interrupt him.
We have your watch, and are come to secure ihe thief.
[To the Conjurer,] You have run at large, and de-
frauded the honest and ignorant long enough. By
virtue of this warrant, you are the state's prisoner,

Conj. What trick shall I try now ! I am detected at
last. [Aside.

Cred, You must be misinformed, Mr. Longstaff.
This man is so far from being a thief, that he is a
greater torment to them than their own consciences.

Long, Hear the evidence of these gentlemen, and
you may alter your mind.

1st, Witness, I suppose this watch to be yours, Mr.
Bluster.

Blust, It is the very same ; the chain only is changed.

1st, Wit, I happened to overhear him talking with
one of his gang last evening. This watch, with a num-
ber of other articles, was t'o be hidden in a hollow tree.
This impostor, to maintain the credit of a conjurer, was
to inform the owners, on inquiry, where they were,
upon their paying him for the imposition. I have been
so fortunate as to secure one of the partners in this
trade. And as I heard this gentleman, for whom you
have so much regard, had taken up lodgings at your
house, 1 did not choose to interrupt you till there was
full proof of his guilt. The stolen goods, which he
described, at^d we have found, are suificient evidence
against him.

Cred, Villain ! a halter is too good for your neck.
May I be taught common sense by a monkey, if ever
tam duped again in such a manner.

2J. Wit, My evidence tends rather to impeach the
character of my townsmen than this worthless fellow's.
All I can say, is, that several months ago, he travelled
this road in character of a tinker ; and now all our
young girls, old maids, and ignorant fellows, are run-
ning

134 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

ning after this wise Conjurer to buy the history of their
lives, which, a little while since, they were Weak-
enough to give him for nothing.

Thmk, \ hope the impostor will be brought to jus-
tice, and we to our senses ; and that after paying this
infatuated devotion to vice and ignorance, virtue and
true knowledge may have our more serious veneration.

Long, Gentlemen, assistme to conduct him to prison.

[Exeurd omnes.

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech in the British
Parliament, Jan. 20, 1775.

f\/^HEN your lordships look at the papers trans^
^ ^ mitted to us fi'om America ; when you con-
sider their decency, firmness, and wisdom, you cannot
but respect their cause, and wish to make it your own.
For myself, I must declare and avow, that in all my
reading and observation, (and it has been my favourite
study : I have read Thucidydes, and have studied and
admired the master-states of the v/orld :) I say I must
declare, that, for solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity,
and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication
of difficult circumstances, no nation, or body of mea
can stand in preference to the General Congress at
Philadelphia. I trust it is obvious to your lordships,
that all attempts to impose servitude upon such men, to
establish despotism over such a mighty continental na-
tion, must be vain, must be fatal.

We shall be forced, ultimately, to retract; let us
retract while we can, not when we must, I say we
must necessarily undo these violent oppressive acti
They MUST be repealed. You WILL repeal them
I pledge myself for it, that you will in the end repeal
them. I stake my reputation on it. I will consent to
be taken for an ideot, if they are not finally repealed.

Avoid, then, this humiliating, disgraceful necessity.
With a dignity becoming your exalted situation, make

.1

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 185

the first advances to concord, to peace and happiness :
for it is your true dignity, to act with prudence and
justice. Thatyow should first concede, is obvious from
sound and rational policy. Concession comes with bet-
ter grace, and more salutary eflects from superior pow-
er ; it reconciles superiority of power wdth the feelings
of men ; and establishes solid confidence on the founda-
tions of atfection and gratitude.

Every motive, therefore, of justice and of policy, of
dignity and of prudence, urges you to allay the fer-
ment in America, by a removal of your troops from
BovSton ; by a repeal of your acts of Parliament; and
by demonstration of amicable dispositions towards your
colonics. On the other hand, every danger and every
hazard impend, to deter you from perseverance in your
present ruinous measures. Foreign war hanging over
your heads by a slight and brittle thread : France and
Spain watching your conduct, and waiting for the ma-
turity of your errors ; with a vigilant eye to America,
and the temper of your colonies, more than to their
own concerns, be they what they may.

To conclude, my lords ; if the ministers thus perse-
vere in misadvising and misleading the king, I will not
say, that they can alienate the affections of his subjects
from his crown ; but I will affirm, that they will make
the crown not worth his wearing : I will not say that
the king is betrayed ; but I will pronounce, that the.
kingdom is undone.

Speech of Galgachus to the Caledonian Army,

Countrymen, and Fellow-Soldiers,

WHEN I consider the cause, for which we have
drawn our swords, and the necessity of striking
an eflfectual blow, before we sheathe them again, I feel
joyful hopes arising in my mind, that this day an open-
ing will be made for the restoration of British liberty,
Q 2 and

186 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

and for shaking off the infamous yoke of Roman slavery.
Caledonia is yet free. The all-grasping power of Rome
has not yet been able to seize our liberty. But it is to
be preserved only by valour.

You are not to expect to escape the ravage of the
general plunderers of mankind, by any sentiment of
justice in them. When xhe countries which are more
accessible have been subdued, they will then force their
way into those which are harder to be overcome.
And if they should conquer the dry land, over the
whole world, they will then think of carrying their
arms beyond the ocean, to see whether there be not
certain unknown regions, which they may attack, and
reduce under subjection to the Roman empire, '

For we see that if a country is thought to be powei#
ful in arms, the Romans attack it because the conquest
will be glorious ; if inconsiderable in the military art,
because the victory will be easy ; if rich, they are
drawn thither by the hope of plunder ; if poor, by the
desire of fame.

The east, and the west, the south, and the north, the
face of the whole earth is the scene of their military
achievements. The world is too little for their ambi-
tion, and their avarice. Their supreme joy seems to
be ravaging, fighting, and shedding of blood ; and when
they have unpeopled a region, so that there are none
left alive to bear arms, they say they have given peace
to that country.

Our distance from the seat of government, and our
natural defence by the surrounding ocean, render us
obnoxious to their suspicions : for they know tliat
Britons are born with an instinctive love of liberty :
and they conclude that we must naturally be led to
think of taking the advantage of our detached situation!
to disengage ourselves, one time or another, from theK
oppi;ession.

Thu^, my countrymen and fellow-soldiers, suspect/ed
aacl tiat^d as >ye ever rpust b^ by the Roin^ns, tlxere i«
n9 Pffip^ef j^ yi^i- 8PJ?y¥Jg eyep a tol^yable ?tate q^
._ " ' ■" ' ' ' bondag;!

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 187

bondage under them. Let us, then, in the name of
all that is sacred, and in defence of all that is dear to
us, resolve to exert ourselves, if not for glory, at least
for safety ; if not in vindication of British honor, at
least in defence of our lives.

But, after all, who are these mighty Romans ? Are
they gods ; or mortal men, like ourselves ? Do we
not see that they fall into the same errors and weak-
nesses, as others ? Does not peace efteminate them ?
Does not abundance debauch them ? Does not wan-
tonness enervate them ? Do they not even go to ex-
cess in the most unmanly vices ? And can you imagine
that they who are remarkable for their vices arc like-
wise remarkable for their valour ? What then do we
dread ? Shall I tell you the truth, my fellow-soldiers ?
It is by means of our intestine divisions, that the Ro-
jnans have gained such great advantage over us. They
turn the misconduct of their enemies to their own
praise. They boast of what they have done, and say
nothing of what we might have done, had we been so
wise, as to unite against them.

What is this formidable Roman army? Is it not
composed of a mixture of people from ditferent coun-
tries j some more, some less capable of bearing fatigue
and hardship? They keep together while they are
successful. Attack them v/ith vigour : distress them :
you will see them more disunited than we are now.
Can any one imagine, that Gauls, Gei-mans, and with
shame I must add, Britons, who basely lend their limbs
and lives, to build up a foreign tyranny ; can one im-
agine that these will be longer enemies than slaves ?
or that such an army is held together by sentiments of
fidelity or affection ? No : the only bond of union
among them is fear. And whenever terror ceases to
work upon the minds of that mixed multitude, they
who now fear, will then hate their tyrannical masters.
On our side there is every possible incitement to valour.
The Roman courage is not, as ours, inflamed by the
thoughts of wives and children in danger of falling in-
to

I

188 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOK.

to the hands of the enemy. The Romans have not *
parents, as we have, to reproach them if they should
desert their infirm old age. They have no country
here to fight for. They are a motley collection of
foreigners, in a land wholly unknown to them' ; cut
off from their native country, hemmed in by the sur-
rounding ocean; and given, I hope, a prey into our
hands, without any possibility of escape. Let not the
sound of the Roman name atiVight your cans, nor let
the glare of gold or silver, upon their armour, dazzle
your eyes. It is not by gold or silver, that men are
cither w^ounded or defended ; though they are ren- .
dered a richer prey to the conquerors. Let us boldly '|
attack this disunited rabble. We shall find among them- 1
selves a reinforcement to our army.

And what will there be then to fear ? A few half
garrisoned forts : a few municipal towns, inhabited by
worn-out old men ; discord universally prevailing, oc-
casioned by tyranny in those who command, and ob-
stinacy in those Avho should obey. On our side, anv
army united in the cause of their country, their wives,
their children, their aged parents, their lives. At the
head of this army, I hope I do not oiiend against modesty
rn saying, there is a General ready to exert all his abil-
ities, such as they are, and to hazard his life in leading
30U to victor}^ and to freedom.

I conclude, my countrymen and fellow-soldiers,
with putting you in mind, that on your behaviour this
day depends your future enjoyment of peace and lib-
erty, or your subjection to a tyrannical enemy, with
all its grievous consecjuenccs. When, therefore, you
come to engage, think of your ancestors, and think of
your posterity.

Modern

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 189

Modern Educatiox.

Dialogue between* a Preceptor of an Academy,

AND Parent of an offered Pupil.

Preceptor, T AM heartily sick of this modern mode
[Solus,] X of education. Nothing but trat^h will
suit the taste of people at this day. I am perplexed be-
yond all endurance with these frequent solicitations of
parents, to give their children graceful airs, polite ac-
complishments, and a smattering of what they call the
fine arts ; while nothing is said about teaching them the
substantial branches of literature^ If they can but dance
a little, fiddle a little, flute a litde, and make a hand-
some bow and courtesy, that is sufficient to make themf
famous, in this enlightened age. Three-fourths of the
teachers of those arts, which once were esteemed most
valuable, will soon be out of employment, at tliis rate.
For my part, I am convinced, that, if I had been a
dancing master, music master, stage player, or mounte-
bank, 1 should have been much more respected, and
much better supported, than I am at present.
Enter Parent.

Parent. Your humble servant, Sir; are you the
principal of this Academy ?

Precep, I am, at your service, Sir.

Par. I have heard much of the fame of your insti-
tution, and am desirous of putting a son, of about
twelve years of age, under your tuition. I suppose
you have masters who teach the various branches of
the polite arts.

Precep. We are not inattentive to those arts. Sir;
but the fame of our Academy does not rest upon them.
Useful learning is our grand object. What studies do
you wish to put your son upon ?

Par, I wish him to be perfected in music, dancing,
drawing, Sic, and as he possesses a promising genius for
poetry, I would by all means have that cultivated.

Precep.

190 . THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Precep, These are not all the branches, I trust, ia
which he is to be instructed. You mention nothing of
reading, writing, arithmetic, language, &c. Are these
to be wholly neglected ?

Par. Why, as to these every-day branches, I can-
not say I feel very anxious about them. The boy reads
well now; writes a decent hand; is acquainted with
the ground rules of arithmetic, and pronounces the
English language genteelly. He has been a long time
under the care of Mr. Ilonestus, our town schoolmas-
ter, who has taught him all these things sutTiciently.
So that I think any more time devoted to them would
be wasted.

Precep, If he is such an adept that there is no room
for his progressing in those arts ; yet I think, at least,
there is need of practice, lest, at his age, he should
forget what he has learned.

Par. That I shall leave to your discretion. But
there is one branch, of great importance, which I have
not yet mentioned, and to which I would have particu-
lar attention paid ; I mean the art of speaking. You
will find him not deficient in that respect ; though per-
haps it requires as much practice to make one perfect in
that, as in any art whatever. He has already learned
by heart a great number of pieces, and has acted a part
in several comedies and tragedies with much applause.
It has been the custom of our master to have an exhi-
bition at least once a quarter ; and my son has always
been considered as one of his best performers. He
lately took the part of Jemmy Jumps, in the farce called
The Farmer, and acted it to universal acceptation.

Precep. I must confess, Sir, that your account of
your son does not appear to me to be very flattering.

Par. Why so, pray ? have you not an ear for elo-
quence ?

Precep. Indeed I have, Sir. No man is more
charmed than I am with its enrapturing sounds. No
music rests sweeter on my ear than the melodious notes,
proceeding from the mouth of a judicious, \. ell-instruct-
ed.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 191

ed, and powerful orator. But I must tell you plainly,
that I am by no means pleased to see parents take so
much pains to transform their children into monkeys
instead of men. What signs of oratory do you imagine
you can discern in a boy, rigged out in a fantastical
dress, skipping about the stage like a baboon, in the
•character of Jemmy Jumps, Betty Jumps, or any other
jumper ?

Par, Do you not approve of exhibitions then ?

Precep, Not much, I confess, in the way they are
^generally conducted. A master, who has four in a,
year, must necessarily rob his pupils of one quarter of
that time, which, in my opinion, might be much belter
employed in attending to what would be useful for
■them in life.

Par, What can be more useful for a child, under
such a government as ours, than to be able to speak
before an audience with a graceful ease, and a manful
dignity ? My son, for aught I know, may be a member
of Congress before he dies.

Precep, For that very reason I would educate hini
differently. I would lay the foundation of his future
fame on the firm basis of the solid sciences ; that he
might be able in time to do something more than a mere
parrot^ or an ape, who arc capable only of speaking
the words, and mimicking the actions of others. He
should first be taught to read. He should likewise be
taught to compose for himself; and I v.ould not be
Wanting in my endeavours to make him a speaker.

Par, Surely, Mr. Preceptor, you must be very
wrong in your notions; 1 have ever pursued a difier-
'ent plan with my children; and there are none in the
country, though I say it myself, who are more univer-
sally caressed. I have a daughter that ha^ seen but
fourteen years, who is capable of gracing the politest
circles; It is allowed that she can enter, and leave a
room, with as much ease and dignity as any lady of
quality whatever. . And this is evidently owing alto-
gether to her polite education. I boarded her a year

in

192 THE COLUMBiAN ORATOR.

in the capital, where she enjoyed every possible advan-
tage. She attended the most accomplished masters in
the ornamental branches of science ; visited the gen-
teelest families, and frequented all the scenes of amuse-
ment. It is true, her letters are not always written
quite so accurately as could be wished ; yet she dances
well, plays well on the piano-forte, and sings like a
nightingale.

Precep, Does she know the art of makmg a good
pudding ? Can she darn a stocking well ? or is she ca-
pable of patching the elbows of her husband's coat,
should she ever be so lucky as to get one ? If she is to
remain ignorant of all such domestic employments, as
much as I value her other accomplishments, and as
much as I might be in want of a wife, I would not
marry her with twice her weight in gold.

Tar, Her accomplishments will command her a hus-
band as soon as she wishes. But so long as a single
cent of my property remains, her delicate hands shall
never be so unworthily employed.

Precep. But suppose a reverse of fortune should
overtake you, what is to become of the child ; as you
say she understands nothing of domestic affairs ? Will
it be more honorable, do you imagine, for her to be
maintained by the charity of the people, than by her
own industry ?

Par, There are many ways for her to be supported.
I would not have you think she is wholly ignorant of
the use of the needle, though she never employed it in
-so disgraceful a manner as that of darning stockings !
or botching tattered garments ! But we will wave that
subject, and attend to the other. Will you receive the
boy for the purposes before mentioned ?

Precep, Why, indeed, Sir, 1 cannot. Though I
am far from condemning altogether your favourite
branches, yet I consider them all as subordinate, and
some of them, at least, totally useless. We devote but
a small portion of our time to the attainment of such
superficial accomplishments. I would therefore recom-
mend

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 193

mend it to you, to commit him to the care of those
persons, who have been so successful in the instruction
of his sister.

. Par, I confess I am so far convinced of the propri-
ety of your method, that, if you will admit him into
your Academy, I will renounce all right of dictating to
you his lessons of instruction, except in one single in-
stance ; and in that I am persuaded we shall not disa-
gree ; I mean the art of speaking.

Preap, I shall agree to that only under certain
limitations. That is an art which undoubtedly demands
our solicitous attention ; but it ought never to be pur-
sued to the injury of other studies. I am sensible that
it is no less useful to a pupil than entertaining to an
audience, to exerci:e him occasionally on the stage in
declaiming judicious and well-writtes compositions, and
pronouncing such selected dialogues, as will tend to
give gracefulness to his attitude, and familiarity to his
tones and gestures. But, admitting that time could be
spared from more important pursuits, 1 see but little
good resulting from the exhibition of whole comedies
and tragedies in our academies and schools ; while
much evil is to be feared, both from the inimorality of
the plays, and the dissipation it introduces into society.
Besides, all boys are not calculated for orators ; and
though Demosthenes surmounted almost insuperable
difficulties in the acquirement of his art, it is folly to
suppose that his example is capable of universal imita-
tion. I cannot believe it a very pleasing entertainment
to a discerning audience, to see a boy without talents,
mounted upon the rostrum, spouting forth sentences
which he does not understand, and which, perhaps,
•are chosen with as little judgment as they are deliv-
ered with propriety. But what can be more disgusting
than to see innocent, and timid females, whose excel-
lence, in part, consists in their modesty, and silence be-
fore superiours, encouraged to reverse the order of na-
ture, by playing the orator on a public stage! And
what often enhances our disgust, and sickens all our
R feelings.

194 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

feelings, is, that their lips are taught to pronounce
sentiments, extracted from the very dregs of the Euro-
pean drama.

Par, Then it seems you do not ajlprove of females
speaking at all ?

Precep, Not on a public stage, unless I wished to
see them divested of half their charius. Such mascu-
line employments as ill become them, as the labours of
the field, or the habits of the stronger sex. I would
have them taught to read and pronounce well at school ;
but nature never designed them for public orators ;
much less, that they should be degraded to th€ vile
purpose of entertaining the votaries of theatrical amuse-
ments.

Par. Why, you differ widely from many, whose
pride is to be considered as the standards of modern
taste. It does not now offend against the rules of del-
icacy, for the different sexes to make exchange of gar-
ments now and then, provided the grand object of
amusement be promoted by it. I was in Boston last
week, and there I saw a beautiful young lady, rigged
out from top to toe in men's apparel, astride a gay
horse, parading through the streets, for the entertain-
ment of fhe ladies and gentlemen of that polite metrop-
olis. And none appeared to be offended, except a few
who had not attained a relish for refined pleasures.

Precep. Yes, and I am told, that, at their theatres,
it is no uncommon thing for a woman to make her appear-
ance, in that apparel, with a sword by her side, strut-
ting across the stage, and swearing, oaths big enough
to choke an Algerine pirate ; and yet il is so agreeable
to the modern )o7i, that even ladies of distinguished re-
finement are ashamed to blush at her !

Par, You have made me so far a convert to your
sentiments on this subject, and given me such proofs of
your SLiperiour judgment in the education of youth, that
I am determined to^commit my son, without any reserve,
to your care and instruction. Till you hear from me
again, I am, Sir, your obedient servant.

i

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. I9o

The ExiSTE.vcE of God, demonstrated from the
Works or Creation ; eeing a Sermon preached
AT Providence, by Jonathan Maxcy, a. m.
President of Rhode-Island College, 1795;
from Romans i. 20.

[N. B. lilien found expedient , the following Sermon maj/
conienientlybe divided into three orfour parts ^suitable for
declamations* The author of this work did not intend at
first to insert the whole ^ but, in attempting to make a selec-
tion, he could find no part which he zoas willing to leave.]

IV'OTHING will more effecluaDy guard us against
■^^ vice, than a firm belief m the existence of God.
For surely if we realize that there Ls such a Being, we
shall naturally infer from his perfections, from the na-
ture of his moral government, and from our situation
as rational creatures, that we are amenable at his awful
tribunal. Superior power, wisdom, and goodness,
always lay us under restraint, and command our vene-
ration. These, even in a mortal, overaw^e us. They
restrain not only the actions, butjhe words and thoughts
of the most vicious and abandonee. Our happiness de-
pends on our virtue. Our virtue depends on the con-
formity of our hearts and conduct to the laws prescri-
bed us by our beneficent Creator.

Of what vast importance then is it to our present as
well as future felicity, to possess in our hearts a feeling
sense, and in our understanding a clear conviction, of
the existence of that Being whose power and goodness
are unbounded, whose presence fills immensity, and
whose wisdom, like a torrent of lightning, emanates
^ through all the dark recesses of eternal duration ! How
/ great must be the effect of a sense of the presence of
the great Creator and Governor of all things, to whom
belong the attributes, eternity, independency, perfect
holiness, inflexiblejustice, and inviolable veracity; com-
plete happiness and glorious majesty ; suprcme right
and luibounded dominion ?

A sense

196 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

A sense of accountability to God will retard the
eager pursuit of vice ; it will humble the heart of the
proud, it will bridle the tongue of the profane, and
snatch the knife from the hand of the assassin. A belief
of the existence of God is the true original source of all
virtue, and the only foundation of all religion, natural
or revealed. Set aside this great luminous truth, erase
the conviction of it from the heart, you then place vir-
tue and vice on the same level ; j^ou drive afflicted in--
uocence into despair ; you add nevr effrontery to the
marred visage of guilt ; you plant thorns in the path,
and shed an impenetrable gloom over the prospects of
the righteous.

Sin has alienated the affections, and diverted the at-
tention of men from the great Jehovah. "Darkness
lias covered the earth, and gross darkness the people."
iUen have worshipped the works of their own hands,
and neglected the true God, though his existence and
perfections were stamped in glaring characters on all
creation. From the regularity, order, beauty, and con-
servation of this great system of things, of which man
makes a part ; from the uniform tendency of all its di-
visions to their proper ends, the existence of God shines
as clearly as the sun in the heavens. " From the
things that are made," says the text, " are seen his
eternal power and Godhead."

1. Man himself is a proof of God's existence. Let
us place him before us in his full stature. We are at
once impressed with the beautiful organization of his
body, with the orderly and harmonious arrangement of
his members. Such is the disposition of these, that their
motion is the most easy, graceful, and useful, that can
be conceived. We are astonished to see the same sim-
ple matter diversified into so many different substances,
of different qualities, size, and figure. If we pursue
our researches through the internal economy, we shall-
fmd,that all the different opposite parts correspond tofl
each other with the utmost exactness and order; that .
they all answer the oiost beneficent purposes.

This

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 197

This wonderful machine, the human body, is ani-
mated, cherished, and preserved, by a spirit within,
which pervades every particle, feels in every organ,
warns us of injury, and administers to our pleasures.
Erect in stature, man differs from all other animals.
Though his foot is confined to the earth, yet his eye
measures the whole circuit of heaven, and in an instam
takes in thousands of worlds. His countenance is turn-
ed upward, to teach us that he is not, like other animals,
limited to the earth, but looks forward to brighter
scenes of existence in'^he skies.

Whence came this erect, orderly, beautiful constitu-
tion of the human body ? Did it spring up from the
earth, self-formed ? Surely not. Earth itself is in-
active matter. That which has no motion can never
produce any. Man surely could not, as has been
vainly and idly supposed, have been formed by the for-
tuitous concurrence of atoms. We behoW the most ex-
act order in the constitution of the human body. Or-
der always involves design. Design always involves
intelligence. That intelligence, which directed the
orderly formation of the human body, must have resi-
ded in a being whese power was adequate to the pro-
duction of such an effect.

Creation surely is the prerogative of a self-existent,
uncaused Being. Finite creatures may arrange and
dispose, but they cannot create ; they cannot give life.
It is a universal law through all nature, that like pro-
duces like. The same laws most probably obtain through
the whole system in which we are connected. We
have therefore no reason to suppose that angels created
man. Neither can we, without the greatest absurdity,
admit that he was formed by himself, or by mere ac-
cident. If in the latter way, why do we never see
men formed so in the present day ? Why do we never
see the clods of earth brightening into human flesh,
and the dust under our feet crawling into animated
forms, and starting up into life and intelligence ?

R2 K

198 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

If wc even admit that either of the foremcntioned
causes might have produced man, yet neither of theij^
could have preserved him in existence one momenfl
There must therefore be a God uncaused, independent,
and complete. The nobler part of man clearly evinces
this great truth. When we consider the boundless de-
sires and the inconceivable activity of the soul of man,
we can refer his origin to nothing but God. How as-
tonishing are the reasoning faculties of man ! How sur-
prising the power of comparing, arranging, and coi^
necting his ideas ! How wonderful is the power of iim
agination ! On its wings, in a moment, we can transl
port ourselves to the most distant part of the universe.^
We can fly back, and live the lives of all antiquity, or
surmount the limits of time, and sail along the vast
range of eternity. Whence these astonishing powers,
if not from a God of infinite wisdom, goodness, and
power ?

2. " The invisible things of him from the creation
of the world," says the text, " are clearly seen.'*
Let us for a moment behold our earth. With what a
delightful scene are we hei-e presented ! the diversifi-
cation of its surface into land and water, islands and
lakes, springs and rivers, hills and vallics, mountains
and plains, renders it to man doubly enchanting. ^Ve
are entcrtajficjEljf^ath an agreeable variety, without be-
ing disguste(^ 'by a tedious uniformity. Every thing
appears admirably formed for our profit and delight.
There the vallies are clothed in smiling green, and the
plains are bending with corn. Here is the gentle hill
to delight the eye, and beyond, slow rising from the
earth, swells the huge mountain, &nd, with all its load
of waterB, rocks, and woods, heaves itself up into the
skies. Why this pleasing, vast deformity of nature,?
Undoubtedly for the benefit of man. From the mou
tains descend streams to fertilize the plains below, a
< over them with wealth and beauty.

The earth not only produces every thing necessa:
to support our bodies, but to rem«dy our diseases, a

grati

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 199

gratify our senses. Who covered the. earth with such
a pleasing variety of fruits and flowers ? Who gave .
them their delightful fragrance, and painted them with i
such exquisite colours ? Who causes the same water to
whiten in the lily, that blushes in the rose ? Do not
these things indicate a Cause infinitely superiour to any
finite being ? Do they not directly lead us to believe
the existence of God, to admire his goodness, to revere
his power, to adore his wisdom, in so happily accom-
modating our external circumstances to our situation
and internal constitution ?

3. But how are we astonished to behold the vast
ocean, rolling its immense burden of waters ! Who
gave it such a configuration of particles as to render it
moveable by the least pressure, and at the same time so
strong as to support the heaviest weights ? Who spread-
out this vast highway of all the nations under
heaven ? Who gave it its regular motion ? Who
confined it within its bounds ? A little more mo-
tion would disorder the whole world ! A small in-
citement on the tide would drown whole kingdoms.
Wlio restrains the proud waves, when the tempest lifts
them to the clouds '/ Who measured the great watersgi
and subjected them to invariable laws ? That great Be-
ing, *' who placed the sand lor the bound thereof, by
a perpetual decree that it cannot pass ; and though
the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not
prevail ; though they roar, yet can they not pass over."
With reason may we believe, that from the things that
are made are clearly seen eternal power and wisdom.

4. Passing by the numerous productions and appen-
dages of the earth, let us rise from it, and consider the
body of air with wdiich we are suiToundcd. What a,
convincing proof do we here find of the existence of:
God ! Such is the subtilty and transparency of the
air, that it receives the rays of the sun and stars, con-
veying them with inconceivable velocity to objects on
the earth, rendering them visible, and decorating the

whole

200 THE COLUxMBIAN ORATOR.

whole surface of the globe with aa agreeable inter-
mixture of light, shade, and colours. But still this air
has a sufficient consistencyand strength to support clouds,
and all the winged inhabitants. Had it been less sub-
tile, it would have intercepted the light. Had it beea
more rarified, it would not have supported its inhab-jjj
itants, nor have aftbrded sufficient moisture for the pur- i
poses of respiration. What then but infinite wisdom
could have tempered the air so nicely, as to give it suf-
ficient strength to support clouds for rain, to aflbrd
wind for health, and at the same time to possess the
power of conveying sound and light ? How wonderful
is this element! How clearly does it discover infinite
wisdom, power, and goodness !

5. But when we cast our eyes up to the firmament
of heaven, we clearly see that it declares God's handy
work. Here the immense theatre of God's works opens
upon us, and discloses ten thousand magnificent, splen-
did objects. We dwindle to nothing in comparison
with this august scene of beauty, majesty, and glory.
Who reared this vast arch over our heads? Who
adorned it with so many shining objects, placed at such
immense distances from each other, regular in their
motions, invariably observing the laws to which they
were originally subjected? Who placed the sun at
such a convenient distance as not to annoy, but refresh
us ? Who, for so many ages, has caused him to rise and
set at fixed times ? Whose hand directs, and whose
power restrains him in his course, causing him to pro-
duce the agreeable changes of day and night, as well
as the variety of seasons ?

The order, harmony, and regularity in the revolutions
of the heavenly bodies, are such incontestible proofs of
the existence of God, that an eminent poet well said,
*' An undevout astronomer is mad." In the time of
Cicero, when the knowledge of astronomy was very im-
perfect, he did not hesitate to declare, that in his opin-
ion the man who asserted the heavenly bodies were not
framed and moved by a divine understanding, was him-
self

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 201

self void of all understanding. Well indeed is it said,
I that the heavens declare the glory of God.

This great Being is every where present. He ex-
j ists all around us. He is not, as we are apt to imagine,
; at a great distance. Wherever we turn, his image
meets our view. We see him in the earth, in the
ocean, in the air, in the sun, moon, and stars. We
feel him in ourselves. He is always working round us ;
, he performs the greatest operations, produces the no-
I blest effects, discovers himself in a thousand different
I ways, and yet the real GOD remains unseen. All
parts of creation are equally under his inspection.
I Though he warms the breast of the highest angel ia
i heaven, yet he breathes life into the meanest insect on
earth. He lives through all his works, supporting all
j by the word of his power. He shines in the verdure
I that clothes the plains, in the lily that delights the vale,
land in the forest that waves on the mountain. He
supports the slender reed that trembles in the breeze,
and the sturdy oak that defies the tempest. His pres-
ence cheers the inanimate creation.

Far in the w^ilderncss, where human eye never saw,
where the savage foot never trod, there he bids the
blooming forest smile, and the blushing rose opens its
leaves to the morning sun. There he causes the feath-
ered inhabitants to whistle their wild notes to the listt^
ening trees and echoing mountains. There nature
lives in all her wanton wildness. There the ravished
eye, hurrying from scene to scene, is lost in one vast
blush of beauty. From the dark stream that rolls
through the forest, the silver-scaled fish leap up, and
dumbly mean the praise of God. Though man remain
silent, yet God will have praise. He regards, observes;
upholds, connects, and equals all.

Thebelief of his existence is not a point of mere spec-
ulation and amusement. It is of inconceivable import-
ance to our present, as well as future felicity. But
while we believe there is a God, we should be extreme-
ly careful to ascertain, with as much accuracy as possi-
ble»

20^ THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

ble, what is his real nature. The most prominent fea-
tures of this are exhibited in that nicomprehensible dis-
play of wisdom, power, and goodness, made m the
works of creation. A virtuous man stands in a rela-
tion to God which is peculiarly delightful. The divine
perfections are all engaged in his defence. He fees
powerful in God's power, wise in his wisdom, good in
his goodness. , i • i

The vicious man, on the contrary, stands in a rela-
tion to God, which is of all things the most dreadful.
He is unwilling to know that God has sufficient wisdom
to search out all his wickedness, sufficient goodness
to the universe to determine to punish that wickedness,
and sufficient power to execute that determination. /
firm belief in the existence of God will heighten a
the enjoyments of life, and, by conforming our heart
to his will, will secure the approbation of a good con
science, and inspire us with the hopes of a blessed im
mortality. ^ . .^

Never be tempted to disbelieve the existence ol G
when every thing around you proclaims it m a languag
too plain not to be understood. Never cast your eye
on creation without having your souls expanded wit,
this sentiment, " There is a God." When you sur
vev this globe of earth, with all its appendages ; whei
you behold it inhabited by numberless ranks of crea-
tures, all moving in their proper spheres, all verging
to their proper ends, all animated by the same greai
source of life, all supported at the same great bounte-
ous table •, when you behold not only the earth but
the ocean and the air, ^warminj:; with living creatures,
all happy in their situation ; when you behold yonder
sun daning an elTuk^ent blaze of gloi-y over the heav-
ens, p-arnishing mighty worlds, and waking ten thousan-
songs of praise ; when you behold unnumbered sy
terns diffused through vast immensity, clothed in splei
dour, and rolfing in majesty ; when you behold tlie^
things, your affections will rise above all the vanities
of time • your full souls will struggle with ecstacy- ^nd

, ar^
yoH

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 203

your reason, passions, and feelings, all united, will rush
up to the skies, with a devout acknowledgment of the
existence, power, wisdom, and goodness of God.

Let us behold him, let us wonder, let us praise and
adore. These things will make us happy. They will
wean us from vice, and attach us to virtue. As a be-
lief of the existence of God is a fundamental point of
salvation, he who denies it runs the greatest conceivable
hazard. He resigns the satisfaction of a good conscience,
quits the hopes of a happy immortality, and exposes
himself to destruction. All this for what ? for the
short-lived pleasures of a riotous, dissolute life. How
wretched, when he finds his atheistical confidence to-
tally disappointed ! Instead of his beloved sleep and in-
sensibility, with which he so fondly flattered himself,
he will find himself still existing after death, removed
to a strange place ; he will then find that there is a
God, who will not sufier his rational creatures to fall
into annihilation as a refiige from the just punishment
®f their crimes 5 he will find himself doomed to drag on
a WTctched train of existence in unavailing woe and
lamentation. Alas ! how astonished will he be to find
himself plunged in the abyss of ruin and desperation i
God forbid that any of us should act so unwisely as to
disbelieve, when every thing around us proclaims his
existence !

The Dignity of Human Nature.
Extract of an Oration delivered at Rhode-
Island College, 1796.

GUIDED by reason, man has travelled through
the abstruse regions of the philosophic world
1 He has originated rules by which he can direct the ship
i through the pathless ocean, and measure th^ comet'i
flight over the fields of unlimited space. He has estab
lished society and government. He can aggregate the
profusions of every climate, and every season. He can
meliorate the severity, and remedy the imperfections,

of

;i

304 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

of nature herself. All these things he can perform fey ^
the assistance of reason.

By imagination, man seems to verge towards crea
tive power. Aided by this, he can perform all the
wonders of sculpture and painting. He can almost
make the marble speak* He can almost make the brook
murmur down the painted landscape. Often, on the
pinions of imagination, he soars aloft where the eye
has never travelled ; where other stars glitter on the
mantle of night, and a more effulgent sun lights up the
blushes of morning. Flying from world to world, he
gazes on all the glories of creation ; or, lighting oh
the distant margin of the universe, darts the eye of
fancy over the mighty void, where power creative never
yet has energized ; where existence still sleeps in the
wide abyss of possibility.

By imagination he can travel back to the source of
time ; converse with the successive generations of men,
and kindle into emulation while he surveys the monu-
mental trophies of ancient art and glory. He can sail
down the stream of time until he loses " sight of stars
and sun, by wandering into those retired parts of eter-
nity, when^the heavens and the earth shall be no more.'
To these unequivocal characteristics of greatness m
•man, let us adduce the testimony of nature herself*
Surrounding creation subserves the wants and proclaims
the dignity of man. For him day and night visit the
world. For him the seasons walktheir splendid round.
For him the earth teems with riches, and the heavens
smile with benificence.

All creation is accurately adjusted to his capacity tot
bliss. He tastes the dainties of festivity, breathes the
Derfumes of morning, revels on the charms of melody,
and regales his eye with all the painted beauties of
vision. Whatever can please, whatever can charm,
Avhatever can expand the soul with ecstacy of bhss,
allures and solicits his attention. All things beautiful,
all things grand, all things sublime , appear in native love-
liness, and proffer man the richest pleasures of fruition.

Lnfernan

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 205

Infernal Conference.

e- . TT^RIENDS and confederates, welcome !

Satan. !^ for this proof

Of your affiance, thanks. On every call,

Whether we need yo\ir counsel or your arms.

Joyful I see your ready zeal displays

Virtues, which hell itself cannot corrupt.

I mean not to declaim : the occasion told

Speaks its own import, and the time's dispatch

All waste of words forbids. God's Son on earth,

Christ, the reveal'd Messias, how t' oppose

Is now the question ; by what force, or power ;

(Temptations have been tried, I name not them;)

Or dark conspiracy, we may pull down

This Sun of Righteousness from his bright sphere,

Declare, who can. I pause for a reply.

Baal, Why thus on me, as I were worthy ; me,
Lost being like yourselves ; as I alone
Could compass this high argument ; on me,
Least in your sapient conclave ; why you point
These scrutinizing looks, I muse ; and, aw'd
By this yoi!r expectation, fain would shrink
From the grest task to silence, had you not
O'er these poor faculties such full control^
As to put by all pleas, and call them forth
In heaven or earth, or hell's profound abyss,
Yours in all uses, present at all hours.
Our kingly chief hath told us we are met
To combat Christ on earth. Be't so ! We yet
May try our fortune in another field ;
Worse fortune than in heav'n befel our arms ;
Worse downfall than to hell, we cannot prove.
But with the scene our action too must change:
How ? to what warfare ? Circumvention, fraud,
Seduction ; these arc earthly weapons ; these
As man to man opposes, so must we
To Christ incarnate. There be some, who cry,

S Henjf

^08 THE COi;UMBlAN ORATOR.

Ileucc ^\ ith snc^li dastard arts ! War, open war!

I honor such bold counsellors, and yield

All that I can, my praise.: till one be found,

One that may rival God's own Son in power,

And miracle to miracle oppose,

More than my praise I cannot ; my assent

I will not give ; 'twere madness. And how war ^

With God ? what arms may we employ 'gainst him,

Whose very prophets can call down heaven's fires

Upon our priests and altars ? For myself,

What powers I had I shall not soon forget ;

What I have left I knovr, and for your use

Shall husband as I may, not vainly risk

Where they must surely fail. The Jews pretend

That Christ colludes with Beelzebub ; the Jews

As far mistake my nature as my name.

The fallacy, O peers, confutes itself,

Forg'd to disparage Christ, not honor me.

Oh ! that I had his v/onder- working powers •,

I'm not that fool to turn them on myself:

No, my brave friends, I've yet too much to lose.

Therefore no more of Beelzebub and Christ ;

No league, no compact can we hold together.

What then ensues? Despair? Perish the thought T

The brave renounce it, and the wise prevent ;

You are both wise and brave, Our leader sayg

Temptations have been tried, and tried in vam,

Himself the tempter. Who will tread that ground,

Where he was foil'd ? For Adam a mere toy,

An apple serv'd ; Christ is not brib'd by worlds :

So much ttfc second Man exceeds the first

In strength and glory. But though Christ hmiselt

Will not be tempted, those who hear him may :

Jews may be urg'd to envy, to revenge,

To murder : , a reballious,racc of old !

Wist ye not what a train this preacher hath,

What followers, what disciples? These are men.

Mere men, frail sons of Adam, born in sin.

Jlsra is our hope. I leave it to your thoughts. -

THE C0LUMBIA2N ORATOR. 207

Muluch, My thoiiglits it seems are known before I
speak ;
War, o})cn war is all my note. I rise
To thank the prophet, who thus reads my heart,
Where honesty should wear it, in my face ;
That face from danger I did never hide \
How then from him ? Nor am I by his praise
More honor'd than by his dissenting voice :
For whilst he counsels circumvention, fraud,
Seduction, (if my memory wrong his words
I yield ft to correction) we stand off,
Wide as the poles apart. Much 1 had hop'd.
When the great tempter fail'd, and in your ears
Sung his own honor's dirge, we had heard the last
Of plots and mean temptations ; mean I call them,
For great names cannot sanctify mean deeds'.
Satan himself knows I oppos'd th' attempt,
AppcaPd, protested ; my thrice honor'd chief -
Knows it full well, and blushes for th' event.
And are we now caballing how t' outwit
A few poor harmless fishermen ; for such
Are Christ's disciples ; how to gull and cheat
Their simple hearts of honesty / Oh peers,
For shame, if not for pity, leave them that,
That beggar's virtue. And is this the theme,
The mighty theme, which now employs the thoughts
Of your immortal synod ? Shame, O shame !
Princes, dominions, arch-angclic thrones,

Imperial lords ! These were your titles once ;
By these names ye were known above the stars :
Shame not your ancient dignities, nor sink
Beneath the vilest of the sons of men.
Whisperers, iriformers, spies. If Christ be God,

i Fight, as bccometh you to fight, with God :

I If man, and sure his birth bespeaks no more.

I Why all this preparation, this consult,

I These mighty machinations tind'ca)>als ?

I Off with your foe at on^c : dismiss liim hence

! Where all his brmhcr ?)ronh«-:^: ?'s»\ c Ivc n. seat ;

'Wfeere

208 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Where his precursor John is gone before ;

Whose voice still echoes (hroiigh this wilderness,

" Repent ye, for God's Idngdom is at hand !

Prepare ye the Lord's way !" It is prepar'd ;

It leads to death ; it marshals him the road

To that oblivious bourac, whence none return.

Herod yet lives ; another royai feast,

Another wanton dance, and he, for whom

So many innocents were slain, shall fall.

Once vanquish'd, are we therefore to despair ?

In heav'n, unequal battle we provok'd ;

Though vast our host, the million was with God,

On earth, inquire of all the nations round

Whom they will serve ; with one voice they reply,

We are their gods ; they feed us with their blood,

Their sons and daughters they make pass through fire

To do us grace : if their own flesh they give,

Shall they withhold to sacrifice a foe ?

Twelve tribes were all Jehovah had on earth,

And ten are lost ; of this small remnant, few

And v/retched are the friends that league with Heav'n.

And where is now Christ's promis'd reign on earth ? f-

When God's ow^n servants rise against his Son,

And those, to whom the promises were giy'n,

Revolt from their Messias, can v/e wish

Greater revenge ? What need have we to tempt

Those, who have hearts rebellious as our own,

As prompt to malice, no less prone to vex

God's righteous Spirit ? And let come what may,

It comes not to our loss, rather our gain.

Let God arise to vengeance ; let him pour ^

Destruction on his temple, wliose proud height

Our chief can witness, measur'd by his fall :

Let him not leave one stone upon another,

As his rash Son hath menac'd ; let his wrath ,

Through all th' inhospitable earth disperse

His scatter'd tribes ; such ever be the fate

Of all his w^orshippers ! May scorn, contempt,

©erisien be their lot, and mav thcrr God

Nevi

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 209

Never recal his curse ! Are wc, O peers,
To mourn for his Jerusalem ? Our joy
Springs from confusion : enmity 'twixt God
And man is our best triumph. For myself,
War is my harvest : then my altars blaze
Brightest, when human victims feed the flame.

Belial, After so many peaceful ages past
Since first emerging from hell's dark abyss,
Rous'd by our arch-angelic cliief, wc sprung
Up to this middle region, and here seiz'd
On this terrestrial globe, created first
For man, our vassal now, where, at full ease.
Lords of the elements and gods ador'd.
We reign and revel undisturb'd of Heav'n.
If God whose jealousy be sure ill brooks
That this fair world should be so long possessed
By us his exil'd angels, and his name,
Pent up in Palestine, should now arouse
His slumbering wrath, and his best strength pr.t forth
To \\Testle for lost empire, and our earth.
As we in evil hour his heaven, assail,
Who of this mighty synod blit must own
The provocation waiTants the retort ?
If then the Maker of mankind hath cause
To meditate their rescue, we no less
Have cause t' oppose th' attempt, and hold them fast
To their allegiance in desj-jite of Heav'n.
Much then we owe to our great leader's care,
Who, ever watchful o'er the public weal,
Calls us to this full council, here to meet
In grave consult how best we may repair
Past disappointments, and repel the spite
Of this new Champion, levelPd at our shrines.
Great is the trouble of my thoughts, O peers,
And much perplex'd am I with douks, what name.
Nature, and office to ascribe to Christ ;
In form the lowliest of the sons of men,
In miracles omnipotent as God ;
Whose voice controli^the stoutest of our host, .

»^ 5 ' Bid)

210 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR,

Bids the graves open and their dead come forth ;
Whose very touch is heakh ; who with a glance
Pervades each heart, absolves it or condemns ;
Whose virgin birth credulity scarce owns,
And nature disavows. Prais'd to all time,
Immortal as himself be the renown
Of that wise spirit, who shall devise the means
By force or fraud to overthrow the power
Of this mysterious foe : what shall I say?
Priest, Prophet, King, Messius, Son of God?
Yet how God's unity, which well we know-
Endures no second, should adopt a Son,
And essence indivisible divide.
Baffles my weak conjecture. Let that pass.
To such hard doctrines I subscribe no faith :
I'll call him man inspir'd, and wait till death
Gives sentence of mortality upon him.
Meanwhile let circumspection on our part
Fill all the anxious interim ; alarm
Rome's jealousy ; stjr up the captious spleen
Of the proud Pharisee ; beset him round
With snares to catch him j urge the envious priests.
For envy still beneath the altar lurks ;
And note the man he trusts. Mammon could tell,
Though Mammon boasts not of his own success,
How few of human mould have yet withstood
His glittering, golden lures. The sword can kill
Man's body 5 gold destroys his very soul.
Yet mark me well, I counsel not to tempt
The M?tStf^r ; poverty can do no more
Than his own mortifying penance does,
Hunger and thirst and obs^.inatcly starve,
VYlicn his mere wish could make the rock a spring.
And its hard fr^igments, bread. Yet sure I am
Ail are not Christ's in heart, who with their lips
€orifess him ; these are men, and therefore frail,
Frail and corruptible. And let none say,
Fear prompts this counsel;. 1 disclaim all fear
But for th« §e»eral cause* *»%Mpry ibeai*

1

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR, 2U

Nature hath built my altar ; every sect,
Nation and language with one voice confess
Pleasure the sovereign good. The Stoie churl,
The dogged cynic snarling in his tub,
And all the ragged moralizing crew,
Are hypocrites ; philosophy itself
Is but my votary bene-ath a cloak.
It harms not me, though every idol god
Were tumbled from his base ; alike I scorn
Samson's strong nerve and Daniel's flaming zeaL
And let Christ preach his mortifying rules ;
Let him go forth through all the Gentile world,
And on the ruin of our fanes erect
His church triumphant o'er the gates of hell,
Still, still man's heart will draw the secret sigh
For pleasures unenjoyed ; the gloomy cell
And melancholy fast, the midnight prayer,
And pale contrition weeping o'er her lamp,
Are penances, from which the sense revolts,
Fines, that compounding superstition pays
For pleasures past, or bribes for more to come.

Satan. Enough of this vain boast,
More than enough of these voluptuous strains.
Which, though they lull the ear, disarm the soul
Ofits best attribute. Not gaudy flowers
Are cull'd for medicine, but the humble weed.
True wisdom, ever frugal of her speech,
Gives sasre advice in plain and homely words.
The sum of all our reasoning ends m this,
That nothing but the death of Christ can solve
The myst'ry of his nature : till he falls,
Scarce can I say we stand. All voices then,
Though varying in the means, conspire his death;
Some cautiously as Baal ; some with zeal
Precipitate as Moloch, whose swift thought
Vaults over all impediments to seize
The goal of his ambition. But, O peers,
Ours is no trivial care ; direct your sight
Along the ranks of that redeemed host,

Gn

219 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

On us hangs ali thefr safety. Night and day
My anxious thoughts are lab'ring in llieir cause ;
And whilst Christ vvalks the earth, I take no rest;
A watchful: spy forever at his side,
Noting each word and deed, sometimes I mix
With the selected Twelve that page his steps ;
Of these, though some have vravercd, none is false
Save one alone, Iscariot he by name ; •''

The taint of avarice hath touch'd his heart;
I've mark'd him for my oAvn. Hear, princes, hear 1
This night the priests and elders will convene
Their secret conclave : I am in their hearts.
Burning with envy, malice, and revenge^
Their only t}>(5ught is how to tangle Christ,
In whom of force I own no guile is found,
But gentleness instead, and perfect truth ;
A iamb in nature without spot and pure ;
Fit victim therefore for their Paschal rites,
Which now rsre near at hand : apt is the hour,
Apt are the instrumCxits. What now remains
But to send forth a tempter to persuade
Iscariot to betray his Master's life,
And damn himself for gold ? Speak, is there one,
One in this patriot circle, whom all eyes
Point out for this emprise ? Most sure there is ;
Belial hath well predicted of our choice :
Mammon, stand forth ! on thee th' election lights.
Mammon. Prince of this world 1 to whom these
armies owe,
(Lost but for thee iti everlasting night)
The glorious prospect of yon rising sun,
'Tis not t' evade the labour, but prevent
The failure of your hopes, that 1 beseech
Your wisdom to correct its choice, and lodge
This arduous embassy in abler hands :
Nathless, if such your will, and my compeers
Adjudge me to this service, I submit.
In me fs no repugnance, no delay ;
For ever what these toiline: hands could do

©r

THE COLUMBIAN' ORATOR ^^13

Or patient thoughts devise, that I have done ;

Whether in heaven ordain'd to undermine

God's adamantine throne, ©r doom'd to dig.

The solid sulphur of hell's burning soil,

Fearless I wrought, and, were there no tongues else

To vouch my services, these scars would speak.

How many daintier spirits do I sec

Fair as in heav'n, and in fresh bloom of youth,

Whilst I, with shriveird sinews, cramp'd and scorch'd,

'Midst pestilential damps and fiery blasts,

Drag as you see a miserable load,

Age-struck without the last resource of death :

This for myself : no more. You're not to learn

The snares which I employ nre golden snares ;

These are my arts ; and like the crafty slave,

W^ho in Rome's circus hurls the fatal net

Over his fierce pursuer, so oft times

Have I entangled the proud hearts of men,

And made their courage stoop to shameful bribes,

Paid for dishonest deeds, perjuries and plots,

That draw them off from God, who else had fill'd

His courts ere now with guests, and peopled heav'n.

These weapons and these hands you still command :

So dear I hold the general cause at heart,

So disciplin'd am I in duty's school,

That reckless of all hazard T present

Myself your servant, or, if so fate wills,

Your sacrifice : for though from mortal man

Discomfiture I dread not ; yet if Christ,

W^hom the great tempter foil'd not, shall stand forth

The cham[)ion of his followers, witness for me.

You, my brave peers, and this angelic liost,

I sought not this bold height, whence if I fall,

1 do but fall where Satan could not stand.

Satan, Go then ;
Go, brave adventurer, go where glory calls :
Auspicious- thoughts engender in niy breast.
And now prophetic visions burst upon me :
T see the trailer Jiulas with a band

Of

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR, 214

Of niidnight ruffians seize his peaceful Lord :
They drag him to the bar, accuse, condemn ;
He bleeds, he dies ! Darkness involves the rest.
Ascend the air, brave spirit and midst the shout
Of grateful myriads wing thy course to fame.

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech in the British
Parliament, May 13, 1777.

Mv Lords,

THIS is a ilying moment ; perhaps but six weeks
left to arrest the dangers that surround us. It is
liifficult for. government, after all that has passed, to
shake hands with defiers of the king, defiers of the par-
liament, defiers of the people. I am a defier of nobody ;
but if an end is not put to this war, there is an end to t
this kingdom. I do not trust my judgment in my pres- j
ent state of health ; this is the judgment of my better
days ; the result of forty years attention to America.
They are rebels ! but what are they rebels for ? Surely
not for defending their unquestionable rights ! What
have these r.-bels done heretofore ? I remember when
they raised four regiments on their own bottom, and
took Louisbourg from the veteran troops of France.

But their excesses have been great ! I do not mean
their panegyric ; but must observe, in extenuation, the
erroneous and infatuated counsels, which have pre-
yailed. The door to mercy and justice has been shut
against them. But they may still be taken up upon the
o-rounds of their former submission. 1 state to you the
importance of America ; it is a double market^ a market
of consumption, and a market of supply. 1 his double
market for millions with naval stores, you arc giving
to your hereditary rival.

America has carried you through four wars, and will
now carry you to your death, if you do not take things
in time. In the sportsman's phrase, when you have

found

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 215

jiound yourselves at fault, you must try back. You have
ransacked every corner of lower Saxony ; but forty
thousand German boors never can conquer ten times
the number of British freemen. They may ravage j
they cannot conquer. But you would conquer, you
say ! Why, what would you conquer? the map of Ame-
rica ? I am ready to meet any general officer on the
subject.

What will you do out of the protection of your
fleet ? In the w^inter, if together, they are starved ;
and if dispersed, they are taken off in detail. I am exr
perienced in spring hopes and vernal promises. I

I know what ministers throw out ; but at last will come
your equinoctial disappointment. They tell you

- what ? That your army will be as strong as it was
last year, when it was not strong enough. You hare

•? gained nothing in America but stations. You have been
uiree years teaching them the art of war. They are
apt scholars ; and 1 will venture to tell your lordships,
that the American gentry will make officers enough, fit
to command the troops of all the European powers.
What you have sent there are too many to make peace,
too few to make v/ar.

If you conquer them, what then ? You cannot make
them respect you ; you cannot make them wear your
cloth. You will plant an invincible hatred in their
breasts against you. Coming from the stock they do,
they can never respect you. If ministers are founded
in saying there is no sort of treaty with France, there
is still a moment left ; the point of honor is still safe.
France must be as self destroying as England, to make
a treaty while you arc giving her America, at the ex-
pense of twelve millions a year. The intercourse has
produced eyery tiling to France ; and England, poor
old England must pay for all.

I have at difTerent times made different propositions,
adapted to the circumstances in which they were offer-
ed. The plan contained in the former bill is now im-
practicable ; the preseiit motion will tell you where

vou

216 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

you are, and what you have now to depend upon. It
may produce a respectable division in America, and una-
nimity at home. It will give America an o])tion : she
has yet made no option. You have said, Lay down
your arms, and she has given you the Spartan auswer,
" Come and take them."

I will get out of my bed, on Monday, to move for
an immediate redress of all their grievances, and for
continuing to them the right of disposing of their own
property. This will be fhe herald of peace ; this will
open the way for treaty ; this will show that parliament
is sincerely disposed. Yet still much must be left to
treaty. Should you conquer this people, you conquer,
undei- the cannon of France ; under a masked battery
then ready to open. The moment a treaty with France
appears, you must declare war, though you had only
five ships of the line in England : but France will defer
a treaty as long as possible.

You are now at the mercy of every little German
chancery ; and the pretensions of France will increase
daily, so as to become an avowed party in either peace
or war. We have tried for unconditional submission j
let us try what can be gained by unconditional re-
dress. Less dignity will' be lost in the repeal, than in
submitting to the demands of German chanceries. We
are the aggressors. We have invaded them. We
have invaded them as much as the Spanish armada in-
vaded LMgland. Mercy cannot do harm \ it will seat
the king where he ought to be, throned on the hearts
of his people ; and millions at home and abroad, now
employed in obloquy or revolt, would then pray for
him.

On

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 217

On the Day of Judgment.

AT midnight, when mankind are wrap'd in peace,
And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams ;
To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour ;
At midnight, 'tis presum'd, this pomp will burst
From tenfold darkness ; sudden as the spark
yrom smitten steel ; from nitrous grain the blaze.
Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more !
The day is broke which never more shall close!
Above, around, beneath, amazement all!
^Terror and glory join'd in their extremes !
Ovu' God in grandeur, and our world on fire !
All nature struggling in the pangs of death !
Dost thou not hear her ? Dost thou not deplore
Her strong convulsions, and her final groan ?
Where are wenow ? Ah me 1 the ground is gone,
On which we stood, LORENZO ! while thou mayst,
Provide more firm support, or sink forever !
Where ? how ? from whence ? vmn hope ! It is too late !
Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilti/ fly,
When consternation turns the good man pale ?

Great day ! for which all other days were made ;
For which earth rose from chaos, man from earth ;
And an eternity, the date of gods.
Descended on poor earth^created man !
Great day of dread, decision, and despair !
At thought of thee, each -sublunary wish
Lets go its eager grasp, and drops the world ;
And catches at each reed of hope in heav'n.
At thought of thee ! And art tiiou absent then,
LORENZO ! no ; 'tis here ; it is begun ;
Already is begun the grand assize,
In thee, in all. Deputed conscience scales
The dread tribunal, and forestals our doom :
Forestals ; and, by forestalling, proves it sure.
Why on himself should man i»««Vi judgment pais ?

T If

218 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Is idle nature laughing at her sons ?

Who conscience sent, her sentence will support,

And God above assert M«/ God in man. '

Thrice happy they, who enter now the court
Heav'n opens in their bosoms : but, how rare !
Ah me ! that magnanimity how rare !
What hero, like the man who stands himself;
Who dares to meet his naked heart alone ;
Who hears, intrepid, the full charge it brings,
Resolv'd to silence future murmurs there ?
The coward flies ; and flying is undone.
(Art thou a coward ? No.) The coward flies ;
Thinks, but thinks slightly ; asks, but fears to know ;
Asks " What is truth ?" with Pilate ; and retires ;
Dissolves the court, and mingles with the throng ;
Asylum sad ! from reason, hope, and heaven !

Shall all, but man, look out with ardent eye.
For that great day, w^hich was ordain'd for man ?
"O day of consummation ! Mark supreme
(If men are wise) of human thought ! nor least,
Or in the sight of angels, or their King !
Angels, whose radiant circles, height o'er height,
Order o'er order rising, blaze o'er blaze,
As in a theatre, surround this scene.
Intent on man, and anxious for his fate :
Angels look out for thee ; for thee, their Lord,
To vindicate his glory ; and for thee.
Creation universal calls aloud.
To disjnvolve the moral world, and give
To Nattire's renovation lu'ighter charms.

The

^

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 219

The dissipated Oxford Student, a Dialogue

BETWEEN a BrOTHER AND HIS TWO SiSTERS.

Lionel, Lavinia, and Camilla.

Lionel, pr^^ ^° y^" ^o» g^^^s ? how do you do ?

XX I am glad to see you, upon my soul 1 am.

[Shaking them hard hy the hand,

Lavinia, I thought, brother, you had been at Dr.
Marchmont's !
> Lion, All in good tunc, my dear; I shall certainly
•'visit the old gendeman before long.

Lav, G ra cicrus , Lionel ! — I f my motlicr r

Lion, My dear little Lavinia, \Chucking her under
the chin'] I have a mighty notion of making visits at my
'*6wn time and appointment, instead of my mamma- s.

Lav, O Lionel ! and can you just now

Lion, Come, come, don't let us waste our precious
moments in this fulsome moralizing. If I had not luck-
ily been hard by, I should not have known the coast
was clear. Pray where are the old folks gone tanti-
vying ?

Camilla, To Clcves.

Lion, To Clevcs ! What a happy escape ! I was
upon the point of going thither myself. Camilla, what
is the matter with thee, my little duck ?

Cayn, Nothing — I am only thinking — Pray when
do you go to Oxford ?

Lion, Poh, poh, v/hat do you talk of Oxford for ?
you are grown quite stupid, girl. I believe you ha\ t
lived too long v/ith that old maid of a Margland. Pray
how does that dear creature do ? I am ali-aid she will
grow melancholy from not seeing me so long. Is she
^as pretty as she used to be ? 1 have some notion oi
sending her a suitor.

Lav, O brother, is it possible you can have such

220 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOT. *'^-

Lion. O hang it ; if one is not merry when one
«an, what is the world good for ? Besides, I do assure
ym, I fretted so consumedly hard at first, that for the
life of me I can fret no longer.

Crtw. But why are you not at Dr. Marchmont's ?

Lion. Because, my dear soul , you can't conceive ho^r
much pleasure those old doctors take hi lecturing a
youngster who is in any disgrace.

4'a/?2. Disgrace !

Lav. At all events, I beseech you to be a little care-
;ul ; I would not have my poor mother find you here
for the world.

Lien. O, as to that, I defy her to desire the meeting
Jess than I do. But come, let's talk of something else,
liow go on the classics ? Is my old friend. Dr. Ork-
borne, as chatty and amusing as ever?

Cam. My dear Lionel, I am filled with apprehen-
sion and perplexity. Why should my mother wish not
to see you ? And why — and how is it possible you
can wish not to see her ?
. Lion. What, don't you know it all ?

Cam. I only know that something is wrong ; but
how, what, or which way, I have not heard.

Lion, Has not Lavinia told you, then ?

Lav. No ; I could be in no haste to give her s#
much pain.

Lio?i. You are a good girl enough. But how came
you" here, Camilla ? and what is the reason you have
rjot seen my mother yourself?

Cam. Not seen her ! 1 have been with her this half
hour.

Lion. What ! and in all that time did she not tell
you?

Cam. She did not name you.

Lion. Is it possible ! Well, she's a noble creature, I
must confess, I wonder how she could ever have such
a son. And I am still less like my father than I am
like her. I believe in my conscience I was changed in
the cradle. Will you own me, young, ladies, if some

villano;-.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 22}

villanous attorney or exciseman should claim me by
and by?'

Cam.^' Dear Lionel, do explain to me what has hap-
pened. ' You talk so wildly, that you make me think
it important and trifling twenty times in a minute.

Lion, O, a hon-id business ! Lavinia must tell you.
V\\ withdraw till she has done. Don't despise me,
Camilla. 1 am confounded sorry, I assure you. [Go-
ing ; and then immediately returningS\ Come, upon
the whole I had better tell it you myself: for she'll
make such a dismal ditty of il, that it won't be over
this half year. The sooner we have done with it the
better. It will only put you out of spirits. You
must know I w^as in rather a bad scrape at Oxford last

year

Cam, Last year ! and you never told us of it before !

Lion, O, 'twas about something you would not un-
derstand ; so I shall not mention particulars now. It
is enough for you to know, that two or three of us

wanted a litde cash ! Well, so in short, I sent a

letter — somewhat of a threatening sort — to old uncle
Relvil ; and —

Cam, O Lionel !

Lion, O, I did not sign it* It was only begging a
little money, w^hich he can afford to spare very well ;
and just telling him, if he did not send it to a certain
place wdiich I mentioned, he would have his brains
blown out.'

Cam. How horrible !

Lion, Poh, poh; he had only to send the money,
you know, and then his brains might keep their place.
Besides, you can't suppose there was gunpowder in the
words ; though, to be sure, the letter was charged with
a few vollies of oaths^ . But, would you believe it !
the poor old gull was fool enough actually to send the
money where he was directed.

Lav, Hold, hold, Lionel! I cannot endure to hear

you speak in such disgraceful terms of that worthy

man. How could you treat that excellent uncle in

T 2 such

222 THE COLUMBIAN ORATCJR:

such a cruel manner ! How could you find a hearC ta-
swear at so meek, so benevolent, so indulgent

Lion, My dear little chicken, don't be so precise
and old maidish. Don't you know it's a relief to a
man's mind to swear a few cutting oaths now and then,
when he's in a passion ? when all the time he would
no more do harm to the people he swears at, than you
would, who mince out all your words as if you werej
talking treason, and thought every man a spy that heard
you. It is a very innocent refreshment to a man's
mind, my dear. But the ditficulty is, you know notlii
ing of the world.

Cam, Fie, brother ! You know how sickly our un-
cle has always been, and how easily he might be alarmed.

Lion, Why, yes, Camilla ; I really think it was a
very wicked trick ; and I would give half my little fin-
ger that I had not done it. But it's over now, you
know; so what signifies making the worst of it?

Cam, And did he not discover you ?

Lion, No ; J gave him })articular orders, in my
letter, not to attempt any thing of that sort ; assuring
him there were spies about him to watch his proceedings.
The good old simple toH took it all for gospel. So there
the matter ended. However, as ill luck would have it,
about three months ago, we wanted another sum

Lav. And could you again

* Lion,. Why, my dear, it was only taking a little of
my own fortune beforehand, for I am his heir; so we
all agreed it was merely robbing myself ; for we had
sevei'al consultations about it ; and one of us is to be a
?awycr..

Cam, But you give me some pleasure here ; for I
had never heard that my uncle had made you- his heir.

Lion, Neither had I, my deary; but 1 take it for
fi;ranted. Besides, our little lawyer put it into my head.
Well, wi wrote again, and told the poor old soul, for
which I assure you I am heartily penitent, that, if he did
not send ms double the sum, in the same manner, without
delay, his hou»e was to be set on fe, while he ^nd all

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 2^23

his family were in bed and asleep. Now don't make
faces nor shruggings ; for 1 promise you, I think al-
ready I deserve to be hung for giving him the fright ;'
though I would not really have hurt the hair of his
head for half his fortune. But who could have guess-
ed that the old codger would have biHeyi so readily t
The money, however, came ; and we thought the
business all secure, and agreed to get the same sum an-
nually.

Cam, Annually ! O horrible !

Lion, i'es, my darling. You have no conception
how conv^enient it would have been for our extra ex-
penses. But unluckily, uncle grew worse, and went
abroad ; and then consulted with some crab of a friend,
and that friend, Avith some demagogue of a magistrate,
and so all is now blown. However, v/c had managed
it so cleverly, that it cost them nearly three months to
find it out ; owing, I must confess, to poor uncle's cow-
"ardice, in not making, his inquiries before the money
was carried off, and he himself be} ond tlie sea. The
other particulars La vinia must give you;: for T have
talked of it now till 1 have made myself quite rick.
Do tell me some diverting story to drive it a little out
of my head. But, by the way, pray what has carried
the old folks to Cleves ? Have they gone to tell this sad
tale to uncle Hugh, so that 1 might lose him too?

Lav. No; your afihcted jrarents are determined
ROt to name it. They are striving, that nobody else
shall know any thing of the matter, except Dr. March-
mont.

Lio7i. Well, they are good souls, it must be acknowl-
edged. I wish I deserved them better. I wish too it
was not such plaguy dull busmess to be good. 1 con-
fess, girls, it wounds my conscience to think how I
have afflicted. my parents, especially my poor mother,
who is not so well able to bear it. But when one is
at Oxford, or in London— your merry blades there, I
can't deny it, my dear sisters, your merry blades there
are but sad fellows. Yet there is. such fun, such spirit,

such

224 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

such genuine sport among them, I cannot, for my life,
keep out of the way. Besides, you have no concep-
tion, young ladies, what a bye- word you soon become
among them, if they find you jlmching. But this i^
litde- to the purpose ; for you know nothing of life yet,
poor things.

Lav, I would not for the world say any thing to
pain you, my dear brother; but if this is what you
call life, I wish we never might know any thing of it.
I wish more, that you had been so happy as never to
have known it. You pity our ignorance, we pity your
folly. How strangely infatuate'd you are ! But yet I
will hope, that, in future, your first study will be to re-
sist such dangerous examples, and to shun such unwor-
thy friends. Pray reflect one moment on the distressing
situation of your dear parents, who cannot endure
your presence, through the poignancy of grief! What
labours and hardships has your poor father encountered,
to gain wherewithal to support you at the University !
And what is your return ! Such, my dear brother, as will
soon bring down his grey hairs with son-ow to the grave.
As for your poor mother, it is quite uncertain whether
any of us ever see her again, as your much injured
uncle has sent for her over sea to attend him in his'sick-
ness ; and to-morrow she sets out. She has left it in
solemn charge with me, to deliver you a message from^
her, which, if you have any sensibility remaining, will
cut you to the heart.

Lion, I know she can have said nothing worse than I
expect, or than I merit. Probe me, then, Lavinia, with-
out delay. Keep me not in a moment's suspense. I
ieel a load of guilt upon mc, and begin sincerely to re-
pent. She is acting towards me like an angel ; and if
she were to command me to turn hermit, I know I
ought to obey her.

Lav. Well, then, my mother says, my dear Lionel,
that the. fraud you have practised

Lion, ■ The fraud ! what a horrid word ! Whv it
was a mere trick! a joke! a frolic! iust to make* an

old

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 2i2&

M hunks open his purse-strings to his natural heir. I
am astonished at my mother! I really don't care whether
1 hear another syllable.

Lav, Well, then, my dear Lionel, I will wait till
you are calmer: my mother, I am sure, did not mean
to irritate, but to convince.

Lion, IStriding about the room.] My mother m^kcs
no allowances. She has no faults herself, and for that
reason she thinks nobody else should have any. }3e-
sides, how should she know what it is to be a young
man ? and to want a little cash, and not to know how
to get it ?

Lav, But I am sure, if you wanted it for any prop-
er purpose, my father would have denied himself every
thing, in order to supply you.

Lion. Yes, yes ; but suppose I want it for a pur-pose
that is not proper, how am I to get it then ?

Cam, Why, then, my dear Lionel, surely you must
be sensible you ought to go without it.

Lion. Aye, that's as you girls say, who know noth-
ing of the matter. If a young man, when he goes
into the world, were'to make such a speech as that, he
would be pointed at. Besides, whom must he live
with? You don't suppose he is to shut himself up,
with a few musty books, sleeping over the fire, under
pretence of study, all day long, do you ? like young
Melmond, who knows no more of the world than either
of you ?

Cam. Indeed, he seems to me an amiable and modest
young man, though very romantic.

Lion. O, I dare say he does ! I could have laid any
wager of that. He's just a girl's man, just the very
thing, all sentiment, and poetry, and heroics. But we,
my little dear, we lads of spirit, hold all that amazingly,
cheap. I assure you, I would as soon be seen trying
on a lady's cap at a glass, as poring over a crazy old
author. I warrant you thinlc, because one is at the
University, one must be a book- worm !

Lav.

256 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

L€Li\ Why, what else do you go there for but to'^
study ?

Lio7u Every thing else in the world, my dear.

Cam, But are there not sometimes young men who
are scholars, without being book- worms ? Is not Ed-
gar Mandlefeert such an one ?

Lion, O yes, yes ; an odd thing of that sort happens
now and then. Mandlebert has spirit enough to carry
it off pretty well, without being ridiculous; though he
is as deeps for kis tuae, as e-c? an eld fellow of a col-
lege. But then this is no rule for others. You must
not expect an Edgar Mandlebert at every turn, my
dear innocent creatures.

Lav, But Edgar has had an extraordinary educa*
tion, as well as possessing extraordinary talents and
goodness ; you too, my dear Lionel, to fulfil what may
be expected from you, should look back to your father,
who was brought up at the same University, and is
now considered as one of the first men it has produced.
While he was respected by the learned for his ap-
plication, he was loved even by the indolent for his
candour and kindness of heart. And though his in-
come, as you know, was very small, he never ran in
debt ; and by an exact but open economy, escaped all
imputation of meanness.

Lion, Yes ; but all this is nothing to the purpose.
My father is no more like other men than if he had
been born in another planet ; and my attempting to
resemble him would be as great a joke, as if you were
to dress up in Indiana's flowers and feathers^ and ex-
pect people to call you a beauty. I was born a bit of
a buck ; and have no manner of natural taste for study,
and poring, and exj^ounding, and black-letter work. I
am a light, airy spark, at your service, ladies ; not
quite so wise as I am merry. I am one of your ec-
centric geniuses ; but let that pass. My father, you
know, is firm as a rock. He minds neither wind nor
weather, nor fleerer nor sneerer, nor joker nor jeerer ;
but his firmness he has kept all to himself; not a whit

of

227 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

•fitdol inherit. Every wind that blows veers me
about, and gives me a new direction. But with all my
fether's firmness and knowledge, I very much doubt
whether he knows any thing of real life. That is the
main thing, my dear hearts. But, come, Lavinia, fin-
ish your message.

Lav* My mother says, the fraud you have practised,
.whether from wanton folly to give pain, or from ra- ^
' pacious discontent to get money, she will leave with-
out comment ; satisfied that if you have any feeling at
all, its effects must bring remorse ; since it has danger-
ously increased the infirmities of your uncle, driven
him to a foreign land, and forced your mother to for-
sake her home and family in his pursuit, unless she were
willing to see you punished by the entire disinheritance
with which you are threatened. But

Lion* O, no more ! no more ! I am yeady to shoot
myself already! My dear, excellent mother, v/hat
do I not owe you! I had never seen, never thought
of the business in this solemn way before. I meant
nothing at first but a silly joke ; and all this mischief
has followed unaccountably. I assure you, I had no
notion at the beginning he would have minded the let-
ter 5 and afterwards. Jack Whiston persuaded me, that
the money was as good a-s my own, and that it was
nothing but a little cribbing from myself. I will never
trust him again ! I see the whole now in its true and
atrocious colours. I will devote all the means in my
power to make amends to my dear incomparable mother.
But proceed, Lavinia.

Lav. But since you are permitted, said my mother,
to return home, by the forgiving temper of your father,
who is_ himself, during the vacation, to be your tutor,
after he is sufficiently composed to admit you into hi^
presence, you can repay his goodness only by the m.ost
intense application to those studies which you have
hitherto neglected, and of which your neglect has been
the cause of your errors. She cliarges you also to ask
yourself, upon what pret-ext you can justify the wast-
ing

228 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

ing of his valuable time, however little you may re-
gard your own. Finally

Lion, I never wasted his time ! 1 never desired to
have any instruction in the vacations. 'Tis the most
deuced thing in life to be studying so incessantly. The
waste of time is all his own atfair, his own choice, not
mine. Go on, however, and open the whole of the
feudgct.

Lav, Finally, she adjures you to consider, that i{
you still persevere to consume your time in wilful neg-
ligence, to bury all thought in idle gaiety, and to act
without either reflection or principle, the career of
faults which begins but in unthinking folly, will termi-
nate in shame, in guilt and in ruin ! and though such
a declension of all good must involve your family in
your affliction, your disgrace will ultimately fall but
where it ought; since your own want of personal sensi-
bility will neither harden nor blind any human being
beside yourself. This is all.

Lion, And enough too. I am a very wretch ! I be-
lieve that, though 1 am sure I can't tell how I came
so ; for I never intend any harm, never think, never
dream of hurting any mortal ! But as to study, I must
own to you, I hate it most deucedly. Any thing else ;
if my mother had but exacted any thing else, with what
joy I would have shown my obedience ! If she had
ordered me to be horse-ponded, I do protest to you, I
would not have demurred.

Cam, How you always run into the ridiculous !
Lion, I v/as never so serious in my life ; not that
I should like to be horse-ponded in the least, though
I would submit to it by way of punishment, and out of
duty: but then, when it was done, it would be over.
Now the deuce of study is, there is no end to it ! And
it doer, so little for one ! one can go through life so
well without it ! there is but here and there an old
codger who asks one a question that can bring it into
vany play. And then, a turn upon one's heel, or lod?-
bdng at one's watch, &r woii<2leri»g at erne's sfeort mem-
ory,

THiE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 2i9

x)fy, or happening to forget just that one single passage,
carries oft' the whole in two minutes, as completely as
if one had been working one's whole life to get ready
for the assault. And pray now tell me, how can it be
worth one's best days, one's gayest hours, the very
flower of one's life, all to be sacrificed to plodding over
musty grammars and lexicons, merely to cut a figure
just for about two minutes, once or twice in a year ?

Cam. Indeed, Lionel, you appear to me a striking
example of what a hard thing it is to learn to do well,
after one has been accustomed to do evil. How volatile !
how totally void of all stability ! One miniite you ex-
hibit appearances of repentance and reforniation, and
the next minute, all fair prospects vanish. How I la-
ment that you were so early exposed to a vicious world,
before you had gained sufficient strength of mind to
withstand bad examples !

Lion, Forbear, Camilla. You hurt me too much.
You excite those severe twinges of remorse, which, !
am obliged to own, I have never been wholly free from,
since I joined my merry companions, and began to learn
the world. Notwithstanding my gaiety, and my appar-
ent contentment, I confess there is something tvithin,
"which constantly admonishes me of my errors, and makes
iie feel unhappy : so that, if it were not for fashion''s
sake, I can truly say, I could wish I were in your re*
cluse situation; here to remain, in my once pleasant
abode, and never more mingle with the world.

Lav, Dear brother, I cannot leave you, without
once more calling your attention to your parents, your
family, and your friends. Think of their present situ-
ation; If you have no regard for your own character,
your present, or future happiness, I entreat you to have
some pity for them. Let not the tyrant fashion bring
you into abject slavery. Pardon me when I tell you,
your pretended friends are your worst enemies. Thejr
have led you into a path which will carry you directly
to inevitable ruin, unless you immediately forsake it.
That knowledge of the world, of which you so vainly
U boast,

230 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

boast, is infinitely worse than the ignorance which you
so much despise. Believe rae, my dear brother, it is a
knowledge, which, by your own confession, never has
produced you any happiness, nor will it ever ; but will
guide you to wretchedness and misery.

.Lion. My dear sisters,! am convinced. Your words
have pierced my very soul. I am now wretched, and
I deserve to be so. I am determined from this moment
to begin my reformation, and, with the assistance of
Heaven, to complete it. Never more will I see my
vile companions, who have enticed me to go such
lengths in wickedness. What do I not owe to my
amiable sisters for their friendly and seasonable advice !
I will go directly to my father, and, like the prodigal,
son, fall on my knees before him, beg his forgiveness,,
and put myself entirely under his direction and instruc-
tion ; and, so long as I live, I never will offend him again.
Lav, May Heaven assist jou in keeping your reso-
lutions !

Extract from a Speech in Congress, April,
1796, ON THE Subject of the Treaty with
Great-Britain.

IF any, against all these proofs which have been
offered, should maintain that the peace with the
Indians will be stable without the Western Posts, to
them I will urge another reply. From arguments cal-
culated to produce conviction, I will appeal directly to
the hearts of those who hear me, and ask whether it i*.
not already planted there ? I resort especially to thf
convictions of the Western gentlemen, whether, sup^
posing no Posts and no Treaty, the settlers will remaiij
in security ? Can they take it upon them to say, tha)
an Indian peace, under these circumstances, will provj
firm ? No, Sir, it will not be peace, but a sword; i
will be no better <han a Iwre to draw victims within th^
reach of the tomahawk.

THE COLUlVrBIAN ORATOR, 231

On this theme, my emotions are unutterable. If I
?€ould find words for them, if my powers bore any pro-
portion to my zeal, I would swell my voice to such a
note of remonstrance, it should reach every log-house
beyond the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants,
Wake from your false security. Your cruel dangers,
your more cruel apprehensions' are soon to be renewed.
The wounds, yet unhealed, are to be torn open again.
In the day time, your patli through the woods will be
ambuslicd. The darkness of micluight will glitter with
the blaze of your dwellings. You are a father ; the
blood of your sons shall iatlen your cornfield. You
^re a mother ; the v/ar-whoop shall wake the sleep of
the cradle.

On this subject you need not suspect any deception
on your feelings. It is a spectacle of horror which
cannot be overdrawn. If you have nature in your
hearts, they will speak a language, compared with
which, all 1 have said or can say, will be poor and
frigid. Will it be whispered that the treaty has made
me a new champion for the protection of the frontiers ?
it is known that my voice as well as vote have been
uniformly given in conformity with the ideas I have
expressed. Protection is the right of the frontiers ; it
IS our duty to give it.

Who will accuse me of wandering out of the subject ?
Who v.ill say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our
iheasures ? Will any one answer by a sneer, that all this
is idle preaching ? Will any one deny that we are
bound, and I would hope to good purpose, by the most
solemn sanctions of duty for the vote we give ? Are
despots alone to be reproached for unfeeling indiirerence
to the tears and blood of their subjects ? Are republi-
cans unresponsible ? Have the principles on which you
ground the reproach upon cabinets and kings no prac-
tical influence, no binding force ? Are they merely
themes of idle declamation, introduced to decorate the
morality of a newspaper essay, or to furnish pretty top-
ips of harangue from the windows of that State-house ?

1 trust

232 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

I trust it is neither too presumptuous nor tod late to^

ask, Can you put the dearest interest of society at risk,
without guilt, and without remorse ?

By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires;
we bind the victims. This day we undertake to ren-
der account to the widows and orphans whom our de-
cision will make, to the wretches that wdll be roasted
at the stake, to our country, and 1 do not deem it too
serious to say, to conscience, and to God. We are an-
swerable ; and if duty be any thing more than a word
of imposture; if conscience be not a bugbear, we are
preparing to make ourselves as wretched as our country.

There is no mistake in this case ; there can be none.
Experience has already been the prophet of events,
and the cries of our future victims have already reached
us. The Western inhabitants are not a silent and un-
complaining sacrifice. The voice of hunjanity issues
from the shade of the wilderness. It exclaims, that
while one hand is held up to reject this treaty, the
other grasps a tomahawk. It summons our imagma-
tion to the scenes that will open. It is no great effort
of the imagination to conceive that events so near are
already begun. I can fancy that I listen to the yells
of savage vengeance and the shrieks of torture. Al-
ready they seem to sigh in the western wind ; already
they mingle with every echo from the mountains. )

Let me cheer the mind, weary, no doubt, and ready
to despond on this prospect, by presenting another,
which is yet in our power to realize. Is it possible for
a real American to look at the prosperity of this coun-
try without some desire for its continuance, without
some respect for the measures, which, many ^^'>^^A^y»
produced, and all will confess, have preserved it ? WiU
he not feel some dread that a change of system will tq^
verse the scene ? The well-grounded frars of our citi
zens, in 1794, were removed by the treaty, but are no
forgotten. Then they deemed ^var nearly inevitable
and would not this adjustment have been considered a
t-hat day as a happy escape from the calamity?

I THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 233

/ The great interest and the general desire of our peo-
ple was to enjoy the advantages of neutrality. This
instrument, however misrepresented, afTords America
that inestimable security. The causes of our disputes
are either cut up by the roots, or referred to a new
negociation, after the end of the European war. This
was gaining every thing, because it confirmed our neu-
trality, by which our citizens are gaining every thing.
This alone would justify the engagements of the gov-
ernment. For, when the fiery vapours of the war low-
ered in the skirts of our horizon, all our wishes were
concentered in this one, that we might escape the des-
olation of the storm. This treaty, like a rainbow on,
the edge of the cloud, marked to our eyes the space
where it was raging, and afforded at the same time the
sure prognostic of fair weather. If we reject it, the
vivid colours will grow pale ; it will be a baleful meteor
portending tempest and war.

Let us not hesitate then to agree to the appropriation
to carry it into faithful execution. Thus we shall save
the faith of our nation, secure its peace, and diffuse ftie
spirit of confidence and enterprise that will augment
its prosperity. The progress of wealth and improve-
ment is wonderful, and, some will think, too rapid.
The field for exertion is fruitful and vast ; and if peace
and good government should be preserved, the acquisi-
tions of our citizens are not so pleasing as the proofs
of their industry, -;s the instruments of their future suc-
cess. The rewards of exertion go to augment its power.
Profit is every hour becoming capital. The vast crop
of our neutrality is all seed wheat, and is sown again,
to swell, almost beyond calculation, the future harvest^
of prosperity. And in this progress, what seems to be
fiction is found to fall short of experience.

U 2 Extract

234 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Extract from an Oration, pronounced at Wor-
cester, (Mass.) July 4, 1796; by Francis
Blake, Esq.

IN viewing the causes which led to the event of this
joyous anniversary ; in tracing the effects which
have resulted to America ; in searching for the princi-
ples which impelled to the contest ; in recalling the
feelings which supported us in the struggle, it cannot
fail to occur to us that the causes have not been con-
fined to the limits of our continent ; that the effects
have extended far beyond the boundaries of our nation ;
that the glorious example, with electrical rapidity, has
flashed across the Atlantic ; that, guided by the same
principles, conducted by the same feelings, the people,
who so gallantly fought and bled for the security of
our. lives and our liberties, are now fighting and bleed-
ing in defence of their own.

On this day, therefore, religiously devoted to the
consecration of our independence, it becomes us, as
the votaries of freedom, as friends to the rights of man,
and bound to support them whenever invaded, to turn'
our attention, with a grateful enthusiasm, to the scenes
of their sufferings, their revolt, and their victories.
While exulting in the fuJI enjoyment of peace and tran-
fuillity, shall not a tear for the unexampled distresses
of this magnanimous nation, check, for a moment, the
emotions of our joy ?
" They have sworn that they will live FREE or DIE !
They have solemnly sworn, that the sword, which has
been drawn in defence of their country, shall never be
returned to its scabbard, till it has secured to them vic-
tory and freedom. Let us then breathe forth a fervent
ejaculation to Heaven, that their vows may be remem-
bered ; that the cause of our former allies may not be

descrteil',

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 231^

deserted, till they have scourged their invaders, till
tliey have driven them back in confusion to the regions
of terror, from whence they emerged.

While we remember with horror the continued effu-
sion of blood, which darkened the morning of their
revolution, let us not forget that their vengeance was
roused by the champions of despotism, whose lives have
since justly atoned for the crimes tliey committed^
While we lament the sanguinary scenes, which clouded
its progress, let it not be forgotten that they aros<? from
the bloody manifesto of a band of tyrants, combined
for the hellish purpose of again rivetting the chains
they had broken.

The league of Pilnitz, like the league of Satan and
his angels, revolting against the Majesty of heaven,
was professedly fabricated, to arrest forever the pro-
gress of freedom; to usurp the dominion of France,
and divide the spoil among this band of royal plunder-
ers. Have we not heard, that the noble, the generous,
the grateful monarch of the forest, that fawned at the
feet of Androcles, when remembering his former friend-
ship, will ever turn with fury on his pursuers ; and
when robbed of his whelps, rests not till his fangs are
crimsoned in the blood of the aggressor ?

Shall then the fervour of our friendship be abated, by
remembering the transitory frenzy of a people distract-
ed wit^ the enthusiasm of freedom, and irritated to
madness by the dreadful prospect of losing what Uiey
had enjoyed but for a moment ? Let it nevc^r be said
of us, as of Rome and of Athens, that ingratitude is the
common vice of republics. Was it to the crowned
monarch, nam^ Louis the Sixteenth, or to the people
of France, that we were indebted, for the blood and
treasure that were so profusely lavished in our cause ?
Shall then their services be forgotten, in the remem-
brance of their momentary excesses ? or shall, we re-
fuse our most cordial concurrence in the feelings v/hich
impel them to the present contest v/ith the rulHan po-.
rentates of Europe ?

Can

236 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Can we doubt, for a moment, which is the cause we "
are bound to support with our sanction, when we behold
the winds and the seas, those dreadful ministers of Hea-
ven's vengeance, commissioned to advance their pro-
gress, and deluge their enemies ? When we behold
Ariel, with his attendant spirits, gently hovering over
their navies, and wafting them to victory on the bosom
of the ocean ; while Neptune and Boreas have com-
bined against the league of their oppressors, to over-
whelm in the deep these deluded followers of Pharaoh !
Have we not seen them fed, as with manna from hea-
ven; the waters divided, and the walls of Jericho fall-
ing before them, while the fair prospect of liberty has
led them in triumph through the wilderness, as a cloud
by day, and a pillar of fire by night ?

AMERICANS ! Let us join in a fervent supplica-
tion, that the sacred charters of humanity, which we
have once sealed with our blood, may be forever pre-
served from the deadly grasp of tyrants.

FRENCHMEN! Be firm; be undaunted in the
struggle you have thus miraculously supported. Evince
to the world, now gazing with admiration at your ex-
ploits in the field of battle, that you have virtue equal
to your courage ; that you are friends to the friends of
humanity; that your arms are nerved only against the
enemies of man. Let not the sacred name of LIBER-
TY be polluted by the frenzy of licentious pi 'prions;
but may your present glorious constitution, while it
protects your freedom from the unhallowed ravages of
tyranny, remain an unshakea bulwark against the de-
structive fury of faction.

TYRANTS ! Turn from the impious t\^ork of blood
in which your hands are imbrued, and tremble at the
desperation of your revoking subjects ! repent in sack-
cloth and ashes. For behold, ye, who have been ex-
ahed up to heaven, shall, ere long, be cast down to hell!
The final period of your crimes is rapidly approaching.
The grand POLITICAL MILLENNIUM is at hand ;

when

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 257

when tyranny shall be buried in ruins ; when all na-
tions sliall be united in ONE MIGHTY REPUBLIC !
when the four angels, that stand on the four corners
of the globe, shall, with one accord, lift up their voices
to heaven ; proclaiming PEACE ON EARTPI, AND
GOOD WILL TO ALL MEN.

General DescriptjOiV of America.

Extract from a Poem spoken at Dartmouth

College, on Commencement Day, 1795.

FROM Patagonia's snow-invested wilds.
To Darien, w^here constant verdure smiles,
The Andes meet the morning's earliest ray, '
O'erlook the clouds and check the flood of Day*
In copious torrents from their eastern side,
Fk)w the vast streams of Amazonia's tide, '

Roll on majestic through her boundless plain,.
And swell the surface of the neighbouring main*
Nor Plata less a broad, deep channel fills ;
Danube and Wolga by his side were rills.
But leave, my muse, this wide-exten Jed clime,
By nature stamp'd with all^slie owns sublime. '

Here she has wrought upon her largest plan.
But mourns in solitude the wrongs of man.
Here Gautemozin writh'd in flames of fire.
And slaughter'd millions round their prince expire.
Rise, sleeping vengeance ! vindicate their cause ;
And thou, stern justice, execute thy law\s :
Ye Afldes, strike Hesperian fraud with dread,
Burst thy volcanoes on tlie guilty head !

Where Cancer's sun pours down his ardent blaz^>.
Drawls the Monsoons, and Icngliiens out his days.
The spacious gulf of Mcxic' rolFs his tide,
And thronging fleets of various nations ride.
The fertile isles their rich luxuriance pour,
Aad western dainties crown the eastern shore.

But

^38 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

But weep, humanity, the black disgrace,
And spread thy blushes o'er oppression's face!
Ye sons of mirth, your bowls, your richest food.,
IS mingled with fraternal tears and blood.
Still groans the slave beneath his master's rod,
But nature, wrong'd, appeals to nature's GOD.
The sun frowns angry at th' inhuman, sight ;
The stars, offended, redden in the night :
fn western skies, drear horror gathers round,
And waking vengeance murmurs under ground ;
O'er all the gulph the dark'nirig vapours rise,
And the black clouds sail av/ful round the skies.
From heaven to earth swift thunderbolts ar^ huri'd,
And storm's dread demon shakes th' astonish'd World.
The rich plantation lies a barren waste^
And all the works of slavery are defac'd.
Ye tyrants, own the devastation just ;
'Tis for your wrongs the fertile earth is curs'd.
Columbia's States unfold their milder scenes,
And freedom's realms afford more pleasing themes.
From Georgia's plains, to Hudson's highest source.^
The northern Andes range their varied course :
Rank above rank, they swell their growing size>
Rear their blue arches, and invade the skies.
Here spreads a forest ; there a city shines :
Here swell ftie hills, and there a vale declines.
Here, through the meads, meand'ring rivers run j
There placid lakes reflect the full orb'd sun.
From mountain sides perennial fountains flow,
And streams majestic bead their course below.
Here rise the groves; there opes the hHUe lawn,
Fresh fragrance breathes, and Ceres wn/es her corn-
Along the east, where the prouJ billows roar.
Capacious harbours grace the winding shore :
The nation's splendour and ihr merchant's pride
VVafts with each gale, and floats with ev'ry tide.
From Iroquois to vast Superiour's strand,
Spread the wide lakes and insulate the land.

He^e

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 239

gaie.
side,)

■ I

Here growing commerce shall unfold her sail,
Load the rich bark, and woo the inland gale.
Far to the west, where savage hordes reside.
Smooth Mississippi rolls his copious tidC;
And fair Ohio weds his silver side.

Hail, happy States ! thine is the blissful seat,
Where nature's gifts and art's improvements meet*
Thy temp'rate air breathes health ; thy fertile soil
In copious plenty pays the labourer's toil.
Ask net for mountains of Peruvian ore,
Nor court the dust that shines on Afric's shore.
The plough explores for thee the richest mine ;
Than autumn's fruit, no goodlier ore can shine.
O'er the wide plain and through the opening glade.
Flows the canal obsequious to the spade.
Commerce to wealth and knowledge turns the key,
Floats o'er the land and sails to every sea.
Thrice happy art ! be thy white sail unfuri'd,
Not to corrupt, but socialize the world.

The muse prophetic views the coming day,
When federal laws beyond the line shall sway.
Where Spanish indolence inactive lies.
And ev'ry art and ev'ry virtue dies ;
Where pride and avarice their empire holdj
Ignobly great, and poor amid their gold,
Columbia's genius shall the mind inspire.
And fill each breast with~patriotic fire.
Nor east nor western oceans shall confine
The generous flame that dignifies the mind ;
O'er all the earth shall freedom's banner wave,
The tyrant blast, and liberate the slave.
Plenty and peace shall spread from pole to pole,
Till earth's grand family possess one soul.

Dialogue

240 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Dialogue between a Master and Slave.

■ ' • • • »

M 1\rOWj villain ! what have you to say for

Master, n ^,^.^ second attempt to run a\vay ? Is
there any punishment that you do not deserve ?

Slave, I well know that nothing I can say will
avail. I submit to my fate.

Mast. But are you not a base fellow, a hardened
and ungrateful rascal ?

Slave. I am a slave. That is answer* enough.

Mast. I am not content with that answer. 1
thought I discerned in you some tokens of a mind su-
periour to your condition. I treated you accordingly.
You have been comfortably fed and lodged, not over-
worked, and attended with the most humane care when
you were sick. And is this the return ?

Slave. Since you condescend to talk with me, as
Bian to man, I will reply. What have you done, what
can you do for me, that will compensate for the liberty
which you have taken away ?

Mast. I did not take it away* You were a slave
when I fairly purchased you»

Slave. Did I give my consent to the purchase ?

Mast. You had no cotisent to give. You had al-
ready lost the right of disposing of yourself.

S^ave. I had lost the power, but how the right ? I
was treacherously kidnapped in my own country, when
following an honest occupation. I was put in chains,
sold to one of your countrymen, carried by force on
board his ship, brought hither, and exposed to sale like
a beast in the market, where you bought me. What
step in all this progress of violence and injustice can
give a right F Was it in the villain who stole me, in
the slave-merchant who tempted him to do so, or in
you who encouraged the slave-merchant to bring his
cargo of human cattle to cultivate your lands ?

MasU

miE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 241

Mast. It is in the order of Providence that one man
should become subservient to another. It ever has
bee.: so, and ever v.^ill be. 1 found the custom, and
did iK)t ir.ake it.

Slavt. You cannot but be FCiksible, that the robber
who puts a pistol to your breast may make just, the same
plea. Providence c;ives Inm a power over your life and
propertv; it gave my enemies a power over my liberty.
But it has alf;o given me legs to escape with ; and what
should prevent me from using them ? Nay, what should
restrain me from retaliating the wrongs I have sulTered,
if a favourable occasion should offer ?

Mast, Gratitude ! I repeat, gratitude ! Kave T not
endeavoured ever since I possessed you to alleviate your
misfortunes by kind treatment ; and does that confer
no obligation ? Consider how much worse your condi-
tion might have been under another m.astcr.

Slave. You have done nothing for me more than
for your working cattle. Are they not well fed and
tended ? do you w^ork them harder than your slaves ?
is not the rule of treating both designed only for your
own advantage ? You treat both your men and beast
slaves better than some of your neighbours, because you
are more prudent and wealthy than they.

Mast, You might add, more humane too.

Slave, Humane! Does it desen^e that appellation
to keep your fellow-men in forced i,ubjection, deprived
of all exercise of their free will, liable to all the inju-
ries that your own caprice, or the brutality of your
overseers, may heap on them, and devoted, soul and
body, only to your pleasure and emolument? Can
gratitude take place between creatures in such a state,
and the tyrant wh© holds them in it ? Look at these
limbs ; are they not those of a man ? Think that 1
have the spirit of a man too.

Mast, But it was my intention not only to make
your life tolerably comfortable at present, but to pro-
vide for you in your old age.

W Slave.

242 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Slave, Alas! is a life like mine, torn from counay,
friends, and all I held dear, and compelled to toil un-
der the bm'ning sun for a master, worth thinking about
for old age ? No ; the sooner it ends, the sooner 1 shall
obtain that relief for which my soul pants.

Mast, Is it impossible, then, to hold you by aay ties
but those of constraint and severity ?

Slave, It is impossible to make one, who has felt the
value of freedom, acquiesce in being a slave.

Mast, Suppose I were to restore you to your liberty,
would you reckon that a favour ?

Slave, The greatest ; for although it would only
be undoing a wrong, I know too well how few among
mankind are capable of sacrificing interest to justice
not to prize the exertion when it is made.
J Mast, I do it, then ; be free.

Slave, Now I am indeed your servant, though not
your slave. And as the first return I can make for
your kindness, I will tell you freely the condition in
which you live. You ai*e surrounded with implacable
foes, who long for a safe opportunity to revenge upon
you and the other planters all the miseries they have
endured. The more generous their natures, the more
indignant they feel against that cruel injustice which
has dragged them hither, and doomed them to perpet-
ual servitude. You can rely on no kindness on your
part, to soften the obduracy of their resentment. Your
have reduced them to the state of brute beasts ; and if
they have not the stupidity of beasts of burden , they
must have the ferocity of beasts of prey. Superior force
alone can give you security. As soon as that fails,
you are at the mercy of the merciless. Such is the
social bond between master and slave !

Part

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 243

Part of Mr. O'Connor's Speech in the Irish
Ilousri OF Commons, in Favour of the Bill for

EMANCIPATING THE RoMAN CaTHOLICS, 1795.

IF I were to judiije from the dead silence with whicK
my speech has been received, I should suspect that
what J have said was not very palatable to some men
in this House. But I have not risked connexions, en-
deared to me by every tie of blood and friendship, to
support one set of men in preference to another. 1
have hazarded too much, by the part I have taken, to
allow the breath of calumny to taint the obji-'cts I have
had in view. Immutable principles, on which the
happiness and liberty of my countrymen depend, con-
vey to^my mind the only substantial boon for which
great sacrifices should be made.

And I here avow myself the zealous and earnest
advocate for the most unqualified emancipation of my
catholic countrymen ; in the hope and conviction, that
the monopoly of the rights and liberties of my countr}',
which has hitherto efiectually withstood the eftbrts of
a part of the people, must yield to the unanimous will,
to the decided interest, and to the general effort of a
whole united people. It is from this conviction, and
it is for that transcendently important object, that,
while the noble Lord and the Right Honorable Secre-
tary, are ofiering to risk their lives and fortunes in sup-
port of a system that militates against the liberty of my
countrymen, I will risk every thing dear to me on earth.

It is for this great object I have, 1 fear, more than
risked connexions dearer to m^ than life itself. But
he must be a spiritless man, and this a spiritless nation,
not to resent the baseness ofaBritish Minister, who has
raised our hopes in order to seduce a rival to share with
him the disgrace of this accursed political crusade, a,nd
^'' ist them afterwards, that he may degrade a competitor

t^

244 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

to the station of a dependent. And, that Ke may de-
stroy friendship which his Hature never knew, he has
sported with the feelings of a whole nation. Raising
the cup with one hand to the parched lip of expectancy,
he has dashed it to the earth with the other, in all the
wantonness of insult, and with all the aggravation of
contempt.

Does he imagine, that the people of this country,^
after he has tantalized them with the cheering hope of
present alleviation, and of futnre prosperity, will tamely
bear to be forced to a rc-endurance of their former
sufferings, and to a re-appointment of their former
spoilers? Does he, from confidence of long success ia
debauching the human mind, exact from you, calling
yourselves the representatives of the people of Ireland,
to reject a bill, which has received the unanimous con-
sent of your constituents ? or does he mean to puzzle
the versatile disposition of this House, on which he has
made so many successful experiments already, by dis^
tracting you between obedience to his impci-ious man-
dates, and obedience to the will of the people you
should represent ?

Or does he flatter himself, that he shall now succeed,
because he has succeeded in betraying his own country,
into exchanging that peace, by which she might have
retrieved her shattered finances, for a war, in which he
has squandered twenty times a greater treasure, in the
course of two years, than with all his famed economy,
he had been able to save, in the course often? for a
war in which the prime youth of the world have beeaa
offered up, victims to his ambition and his schemes, asf
boundless and presumptuous, as ill-concerted and ill-
combined ; for a war in which the plains of every nation
in Europe have been crimsoned with oceans of blood ;
for a war in which his country has reaped nolhing but
disgi-ace, and which must ultimately prove her ruin ?

Does he flatter himself, that he shall be enabled,
Satan like, to end his political career by involving th(
whole empire in a civil-war, from which nothing car

acci*ue

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 245

accrue, but a doleful and barren conquest to the victor ?
I trust the people of England are too wise and too just
to attempt to force measures upon us wliich they woul4
themselves i eject with disdain. 1 trust they have not
themselves so soon forgotten the lesson they so recently
learned from America, which should serve as a lasting
examplelo nations, against employing force to subdue
the spirit of a people, determined to be free !

But if they should be so weak, or so wicked, as to
suffer themselves to be seduced by a man, to whos6
soul, duplicity and finesse arc as congenial, as ingenuous-
ness and fair dealing is a stranger', to become the instru-
ments of supporting a few odious public characters in
power and rapacity, against the interest and against the
sense of a whole people; if we are to be dragooned
into measures against our will, by a nation that would
lose her last life, and expend her last guinea, in resent-
ing a similar insult, if oifered to herself, I trust she will
find in the people of this country a spirit in no wise in-
ferior to her own.

You are at this moment at the most awful period of
your lives. The Minister of England has committed
you with your country ; and on this night your adop-
tion or rejection of this bill, must determine, in the
eyes of the Irish nation, wliich you represent, the Min-
ister of England, or the people of Ireland! And, al-
though you are convinced, you do not represent the
people of Ireland ; although you are convinced, every
man of you, that you are self-created, it docs not alter
the natuj-^ of the contest ; it is still a contest between
the Minister of England and the people of Ireland ;
and the weakness of your title should only make you
the more circumspect in the exercise of your power.

Fortunately, the views of the British Minister have
been detected ; fortunately, the people of this country
see him in his true colours. Like the desperate gamester,
who has lost his a'l, in the wildest schemes of aggran-
dizement, he looks round for some dupe to supply him
with the further means of future projects ; and in the
W 2 - • . crafty

246 THE COLUMBIAxN ORATOR.

crafty subtleness of his soul, ho fondly imagines, he has
found that easy dupe in the credulity of the Irish nation.
After he has exhausted his own coimtry in a crusade
against that phantom, political o{)inion, he flatters him-
self he shall be enabled to resuscitate her at the ex-
pense of yours.

As you value the peace and happiness of your coun- f
try ; as you value the rights and liberties of the soil;
that has given you birth ; and if you are not lost to
every sense of feelin* for your own consequence and
importance as men, I call on you this night to make
your stand. I call on you to rally round the independ-*
cnce of your country, w4iose existence has been so
artfully assailed. Believe me, the British Minister will
leave you in the lurch, when he sees that the people
of this nation are too much in earnest to be tricked out
of their rights, or the independence of their country.

What a display of legislation have we had on this
night ? Artificers who neither know the foundation on
which they work, the instinimcnts they ought to use,
nor the materials required ! Is it on the narrov,' basis
of monopoly and exclusion you would erect a temple
to the growing liberty of your country ? If you ^vill
legislate ; know, that on the broad basis of immutable
justice only, you can rane a lasting, beauteous temple to
the liberty of your island ; whose ample base shall lodge,
and whose roof shall shelter her united family from the
rankling inclemency of rejection and exclusion. Know,
that reason is that silken thread by which the lawgiver
leads his people; and above all, know, ♦it in the
knowledge of the temper of the public mind, consists
the skill and the wisdom of the legislator.

Do not imagine that the minds of your countrymen
have been stationary, while that of all Europe has been
rapidly progressive ; for you must be blind not to per-
ceive, that the whole European mind has undergone a
revolution, neither confined to this nor to that country ;
but as general as the great causes which have given it
"kirth, and still continue to feed its growth. In vain do

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 247

these men, who subsist but on the abuses of the govern-
ment under which they live, flatter themselves, that
what we have seen these last six years is but the fever
of the moment, which will pass away as soon as the pa-
tient has been let blood enough.

As well may they attempt to alter the course of na-
ture, without altering her laws. If they v/ould effect
a counter revolutioa in the European mind, they must
destroy commerce and its effects ; they must abolish ev-
ery trace of the mariner's compass ; they must consign
every book to the flames ; they must obliterate every
vestige of the invention of the press ; they must destroy
the conduit of intelligence, by destroying* the institu-
tion of the post office. Then, and not till then, they
and their abuses may live on, in all the security
which ignorance, superstition, and want of concert in
the peoj:tle can bestow.

But while 1 would overwhelm with despair those
men who have been nursed in the lap of venality and
prostitution ; who have been educated in contempt and
ridicule of :. love for their country; and who have
grown grey in scoffing at every thing like public spirit,
let me congratulate every true friend to mankind, that
that commerce, which has begotten so much independ-
ence, will continue to beget more j and let me congratu-
late every friend to the liuman species, that the press,
which has sent such a mass of information into the
world, will continue, with accelerated rapidity, to
pour forth its treasures so beneficial to mankind.-

Itis to th^se great causes we are indebted, that the
combination of priests and despots, which so long ty-
rannized over the civil and political liberty of Europe,
has been dissolved. )tis to these great causes we are
indebted, that no priest, be his religion what it may,
dares preach the doctrine which inculcates the necessity
of sacrificing every right and every blessing this world
can afford, as the only mean of obtaining eternal hap-
piness in the life to come.

This

248 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

This "vvas the doctrine by. "wliich the despotism of
Europe was so long supported; this was the doctrine
by which the political popery of Europe was supported;,
but the doctrine and the despotism may now sleep in
the same grave, until the trumpet of ignorance, super-
stition, and bigotry, shall sound their resurrection.

Scene from the Tragedy of Tamerlaxe.

Enter Omar and Tamerlane.

Omar, TTONOR and fame
[Dozvmg.] aTjl Forever wait the Emperor ; may our

Prophet
Give him ten thousand thousand days of life,
And every day like (his. The captive sultan,
Fierce in his bonds, and at his fate repining,
Attends your sacred wilL

Tamerlane, Let him approacli.
[Enter Bajazet and other Turkish Prisoners in chains

Tinth a. guard,]
When 1 survey the ruins of this iicid,
The wild destruction, which thy fierce ambition
Has dealt. among mankind ; (so many widows
And helpless orphans has thy battle made,
That half our eastern world this day are mourners ;)
Well may I, in behalf of heaven and earth,
Demand from thee atonement for this wrong.

BaJ, Make thy demand of those that own thy:
power ;
Know 1 am still beyond it ; and though fortune
Has stript me of the train and j)orap of greatness.
That outside of a king ; yet still my soul,
Fix'd high, and of itself alone dependent,
Is ever free and royal; and even now,
As at the head of battle, does defy thee.
I know what power the chance of war has given,
And dare thee to the use on't. This vile speeching,
This after-game of words, is what most irks me ;

Spare:

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 24^

Spare thot, and for the rest 'tis equal all,
Be it as it may.

Tarn, Well was it for the world,
When, on their borders, neighbouring princes met.
Frequent in friendly parle, by cool debates
Preventing wasteful war : sueh should our meeting
Have been, hadst thou but held in just regard
The sanctity of leagues so often sworn to.
Canst thou believe thy Prophet, or, what's more,
That Power supreme, which made thee and thy Prophet,
Will, with impunity, let pass that breach
Of sacred faith given to the royal Greek ?

Baj, Thou pedant talker ! ha ! art thou a king
Possess'd of sacred power, Heaven's darling attribute.
And dost thou prate of leagues, and oaths, and prophets !
f hate the Greek, (perdition on his name !)
As I do thee, and would have met you both.
As death does human nature, for destruction.

7am. Causeless to hate, is not of human kind:
The savage brute that haunts in woods remote
And desert wilds, tears not the fearful traveller.
If hunger, or some injury, provoke not.

Baj, Can a king want a cause, when empire bids
Go on ? What is he born for, but ambition ?
It is his hunger, 'tis his call of natui'e.
The noble appetite which will be satisfy'd, '■*

And, like the food of £^ods, makes him immortal.

Tarn. Henceforth 1 will not wonder we were foes,
Since souls that differ so by nature, hate,
And strong antipathy forbids their union.

Baj, The noble fire that warms me, does indeed
Transcend thy coldness. I am. pleas'd we differ,.
Nor think alike.

Tarn. No: for I think like man.
Thou like a rponster, from whose baleful presence
Nature starts back ; and though she fix'd her stamp
On thy rough mass, and mark'd thee for a man.
Now, conscious of her error, she disclaims thee,.
.As form'd for her destruction.

'Tis

250 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOlt.

'Tis true, I am a king, as thou hast been ;
Honor and glory too have been my aim ;
But though I dare face death, and all the dangers
Which furious war wears in its bloody front.
Yet would I choose to fix my name by peace,
By justice, and by mercy ; and to raise
My trophies on the blessings of mankind :
Nor would 1 buy the empire of the world
With ruin of the people whom I sway,
On forfeit of my honor.

Baj, Prophet, I thank thee..
Confusion ! couldst thou rob me of my glory
To dress up this tame king, this preaching dervise !
Unfit for war, thou shouldst have liv'd secure
In lazy peace, and with debating senates
Shar'd a precarious sceptre ; sat tamely still,
And let bold factions canton out thy power
And wrangle for the spoils they robb'd thee of;
Vv^hilst I, (O blast the power that stops my ardour)
Would, like a tempest, rush amidst the nations,
Be greatly terrible, and deal, like Alha,
My angry thunder on the frighted world.

Tarn. The world ! 'twould be too little for thy pride i'
Thou wouldst scale heav'n.

Baj. 1 would. Away ! my soul
Disdains thy conference.

Tarn. Thou vjf^n, rash thing.
That, with gigantic insolence, has dar'd
To lift thy wretched self above the stars,
And mate with power almighty, thou art fall'n !

£nj, 'Tis false ! I am not fall'n from aught I have
been !
At least my soul resolves to keep her state,
And scorns to make acquaintance with ill fortune.

Tarn, Almost beneath my pity art thou fall'n ;
Since, while the avenging hand of Heav'n is on thee.
And presses to the dust thy swelling soul,
Fool-hardy, with the stronger thou contendest.
To what vast heights had thy tumultuous temper

Been

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOK. 251

Been hurry M, if success had crownM ihy wishes !
Say, what had I to expect, if thou hadst conquer'd?

Baj, Oh, glorious thought ! Ye powers, I will enjoy it,
Though but in fancy ; imagination shall
Make room to entertain the vast idea.
Oh ! had I been the master but of yesterday,
The WQild, the world had felt mc ; and for thee,
\ had us'd thee, as thou art to nie, a dog,
The object of my scorn and mortal hatred.
I would have cagVl thee for the scorn of slaves.
I would have taught thy neck to know my weight,
And mounted from that footstool to the saddle :
Till thou hadst bcgg'd to die ; and e'en that mercy
I had deny'd thee. New thou kiiow'st my mind,
And question me no larther.

Tarn. Well dost thou teach me
What justice should exact from thee. Mankind,
With one consent, cry out for vengeance on tiiee ;
Loudly they call to cut off this league-breaker,
This wild destroyer, from the face of earth.

Baj. Do it, and rid thy shaking soul at once
Of its worst f«ar^

Tarn, Why slept the thunder
That should have arm'd the idol deity,
And given thee power, ere yester sun was set,
To shake the soul of Tamerlane. Hadst thou an arm
To make thee fear'd,thou shouldst have prov'd it on me,
Amidst the sweat and blood of yonder field.
When, through the tumult of the war 1 sought thee,
Fenc'd in with nations.

Baj: Oh, blast the stars
That fated us to dirferent scenes of slaughter !
Oh ! could my sword have met thee !

Tarn, Thou hadst then,
As now, been in- my power, and held thy life
Dependent on niy gift. Yes, Bajazet,
I bid thee live. So much my soul disdains
That thou shouldst think I can fear aught but Heaven.
Nay more; couldst thou forget thy brutal fierceness,

And

, '252 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

jSnd form thyself to manhxoocl, I would bid thee
Live and be still a king, that thou mayst learn

What man should be to man

This royal tent, with such of thy doincstics

As can be found, shall wait uyion tiiy service 4

Nor will J use my fortune to demand

Hard terms of peace ; but such as thou mayst offer

With honor, I with honor may receive.

Colonel Barre's Speech in the British Parlia-
ment, 1765, on the Stamp-Act Bill.

o

N the first reading of the bill, Mr. Townsend
spoke in its favour ; and concluded with the fol-
lowing w(5rds : " And will these Americans, children
planted by our care ; nourished up by our indulgence,
until they are grown to a degree of strength and opu-
lence ; and protected by our arms ; will they grudge
to contribute their mite, to relieve us from the heavy
weight of that burthen which we lie under ?"

On this Colonel Barre rose, and answered Mr. Towns-
end in the following masterly manner.

" They planted by YOUR care !" No ; your op-
pressions planted them in America. They fled from
your tyranny, to a then uncultivated and unhospitable
country, where they exposed themselves to almost all
the hardships to which human nature is liable ; and
among others, to the cruelties of a savage foe, the most
subtle, and I will take upon me to say, the most for-
midable of any people upon the face of the earth; and
yet, actuated by principles of true English liberty, they
met all hardships with pleasure, compared with those
they suffered in their own country, from the hands of
those who should have been their friends.

*' They nourished up by your indulgence !" They
grew by your neglect of them. As soon as you fcegan
to care about them, that care was exercised in sending

persons

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 253

persons to rule them, in one department and another,
who were, perhaps, the deputies of deputies to some
members of this House, sent to spy out their liberties,
to misrepresent their actions, and to prey upon them ;
men, wliose behaviour, on many occasions, has caused
the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within them p
men promoted to the highest scat, of justice; sbmej
who, to my knowledge, were glad, by going to a for-
eign country, to escape being brought to the bar of a
court of justice in their own.

" They protected by YOUR arms!*' They have
nobly taken up arms in your defence ; have exerted a
valour, amidst their constant and laborious industry, for
the defence of a country, whose frontier was drenched
in blood, while its interior parts yielded all its litde
savings to your emoluments.

And, believe me ; remember I this day told you so,
that the same spirit of freedom, which actuated that
people at first, will accompany them still. But pru-
dence forbids me to cx])lain myself further. Heaven
knows, I do not at this time speak from motives of
party heat ; what I deliver are the genuine sentiments
of my heart.

However superiour to me in general knowledge and
experience the respectable body of this House may be,
yet 1 claim to know more of America than most of
you, having seen and been conversant in that country,
'J'he people, I believe, are as truly loyal as any subjects
ihe king has ; but a people jealous of their liberties,
and who will vindicate them, if ever they should be
violated. But the subject is too delicate, I will say no
more.

X The

254 THE COLUiMBIAN ORATOR.

The Last Day.
Extract from a manuscript Poem.

THE day of Doom, the all-important day,
I sing ; that link extreme of time, which joins
The measur'd chain of days, and months, and years,
To one eternal, one effulgent day:
Day to the children of the day ; but night,
Eternal night, to all the sons of darkness.
The time affix'd by God's decree arrives.
Th' Almighty spake : heav'n open'd wide her gates.
The herald, Gabriel, far advanc'd in front,
Rais'd on seraphic wings, first issued forth.
Next the Creation's Sire, vciPd in a cloud
Of awful gloom, from which red lightnings flash'd.
And rending thunders roar'd, pass'd through the gates.
At his right hand sat his eternal Son,
High rais'd upon a golden throne emboss'd
With gems, that sparkled through the cloud. Angels
And saints, the countless host of those, who hold
The realms of bliss, next in procession'mov'd ;
Nor could the wide-extended space from Aries
To the scales, that poise the hemispheres,
Contain the arrny of the skies.

The earth had never seen a larger host,
Than when the foe of Greece spread o'er the land
And sea from Heb^-us to Thermopylae ;
But this was small, c-onjpar'd with what the heavens
Now saw, as earth is small compar'd with heaven.
The numerous stars, that hold their course along
The milky-way, and in the iicighb'ring skies,
No sooner saw their Maker cloth'd in storms.
And felt his thunder shake their solid spheres,
1'han trembling they retire ; as when some king
Enrag'd frowns on his slaves, who flee his face.
Till he commands them stand and hear his wilL
So had the fridited stars fied off and left

The

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 256

The mundane space all void, had not the trump
Of Gabriel interpos'd, and with a voice
More loud, than ever yet creation heard,
Impress'd the mandates of all nature's God
Upon all nature's works. Ye stars ! (said he)
Return, and hold yonr station in your ©rbs ;
There stand and see what fie on eartli transacts
Tliis day, and witness how He deals with man.
Thou sun ! who from the birth of time hast roll'd
Thy chariot round the v/orld, and shed thy beam*
Alike on all mankind, look on and see
The equal justice of thy God to man
Outshine thy equal rays. Th' affrighted earth
Took the alarm of heav'n : the atmosphere
Assay'd to flee upon the wings of storm.
Fierce tempests beat the lofty mountains' side-:;,
Sweep forests down, and spread destruction o'er
The works of man. The troubled ocean heaves :
His surging billows mingle with the clouds :
His deepest caverns lie expos'd to view.
The earth, convuls'd from her deep centre, heaves.
Order forsook the world : discord spread w^ide.
The confus'd elements again had join'd
The listless empire of primeval chaos.
Had not harmonic sounds assuag'd their tumult.

Spirit divine ! thou soul of harmony
In heaven and earth, breathe through my lines and speak
The power of music's charms, when heavenly love
VVarm'd every breast of angels, seraphim,
And doubly glowM in the Almighty's Son ;
Who, like a bridegroom clad in smiling youth
And robes of peace, prcpar'd to meet his bride.
The lightnings ceas'd ; the thunders died, when he
Complacent smil'd. Gabriel, and all the choir
Of heaven, said he, hush the commoved world,
And wake the sleeping saints with sounds of peace.
His words like melting music flow'd: his face,
More radiant than the vernal morn, that smiles
The earth to joy. The trump of Gabriel led

The

256 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

The choral song : unnumber'd harps of gold,

And voices sweet join'd the melodious sounds

Discord, that late had mov'd the elements

To war, and 'gan t' invade the spheres.

Was hush'd to sleep. Quick chang'd the scene,

From raging discord, universal storm,'

To soothing sounds, and universal calm.

The sun, from blackest clouds, unveiPd his fece,

And shone with double radiance on the earth.

The iixed stars had ceas'd to shed their beams,

And trembling, hid in sable darkness, stood ;

But now, enraptur'd with symphonious sounds,

They dart their genial rays, and fill their orbs

lYith pleasing light, and soul-reviving warmth.

But thou, O Earth, most felt the pleasing change,

Fierce storms were mute.

Old ocean heard, and smoothed his tempest face ;
And spring-like beauty smiPd on all the earth.

Poets have sung of Orpheus' potent lyre ;
Eurydice, forc'd from the bands of death,
Of bending trees and moving rocks obsequious
To the sound. But now whole worlds obey.
Death could not hold his victims in the tomb.
*' Thou monarch of the grave, resign the just !
Awake ! ye saints, from your long night of sleep,
Adorn'd with ever-blooming youth and robes
Of heavenly innocence. Salute the morn
Of everlasting day." Thus sung the choir.
Death's dreary mansions heard with sad dismay.
In the mid regions of eternal night.
There sits the ghastly monarch on his throne.
Substantial darkness fills the broad domain :
Heart-chilling vapours rise from noxious lakes.
His servants, War, Intemp'rance, Plague, Revenge,
Consumption, wrinkled Age, groan discord round
His throne, and offer up their loathsome fumes
Of putrid corps, contagion, dead'ning blasts ;
Sweet incense to their king; or run before
His grisly steed, when he rides o'er the earth.

A nd

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. ^^57

And crops with chilling hand the bloom of life.

Here reigns the awful monarch of the dead;

When the full sound spread thro' his darksome realms,

His heart a])paIPd, he trembles on his throne :

His iron nerves relax : his sceptre falls.

The saints releas-d, their dreary mansions leave :

But O how chang'd !

No cumb'rous load of grosser elements.

But pure aerial forms their soul possess ;

Forms, like the glorious body of their Lord,

Glowing with beauty and immortal bloom.

A Dialogue on Loquacity.

Enter Stefhex.
^ J T ADIES and gendemen, you have prob-
ep len, | ^ ^^^^y i-jg^^rd of Foote, the comedian : if
not, ii is out pi' my power to tell you any thing about
him, except this; he had but one leg, and his name
was Samuel. Or, to speak more poetically, one leg
he had, and Samuel v/as his name. This Foote wrote
a farce, called the Alderman ; in which he attempted
to ridicule a well-fed magistrate of the city of London.
This last, hearing of the intended affroiit, called upon
the player, and threatened him severely for his pre-
sumption. Sir, says Foote, it is my business to take off
people. You shall see hov/ w^ell I can take myself off.
So out of the room he went, as though to prepare.
The Alderman sat waiting, and waiting, and waiting,

and 1 have forgotten the rest of the story;

but it ended very comically. So I must request of you,
to muster up your wit, and each one end the story to
his own liking. You are all wondering what this
story leads to. Why, I'll tell you ; Footc's farce was
called the Alderm.an, ours is called the Medley ;. his
was written according to rule, ours is composed at loose
ends. Yet loose as it is, you will find it made up, like
X2 ali

258 THE COLUMBlAiX ORATOR.

all otlier pieces, of nouns, pronouns, verbs, participlesr,
adverbs, conjunctions, articles, adjectives, prepositions,
and interjections. Now, words are very harmless
things ; though 1 confess that much dej^ends upon the
manner of putting them together. The only thing to
be settled is, that, if you should dislike the arrange-
ment, you will please to alter it, till it suits you.
Enter Trueman.

Trueman, What are you prating about at such a rate ?

Steph* I am speaking of Sam Foote, and prepositions,
and adverbs, and many other great characters.

Tru, Now, don't you know, that your unruly
tongue will be the ruin of you ? Did you ever see a man
who was foaming and frothing at the mouth as you are,
that ever said any thing to the purpose ? You ought
always to think before you speak, and to consider well
to whom you speak, and the place and time of speaking.

SUph. Pi'ay who taught you all this worldly wisdom ?

Tru, My own experience, Sir ; whicii is said to be
the beat school-master in the world, and ought to teach
it to every man of common sense.

Stepk. Then, do not imagine that you possess any
great secret. " Keep your tongue between your teeth"
is an old proverb, rusted and crusted over, till nobody
can" tell what it was first made of. Prudence, indeed,
teaches the same. So prudence may teach a merchant
to keep his vessels in port for fear of a storm at sea.
But, " nothing venture, nothing have" is my proverb.
Nov\^ suppose all the world should adopt this prudence,
what a multitude of mutes we should have ! There
would be an end o^news, lawsuits, politics, and soci-
ety. I tell you, Sir, that busy tongues are like main
springs ; they set every thing in motion.

7ru, But whcrc's a man's dignity, all this time, while
his tongue i.s running at random, without a single
nought to guide it ?

Steph, His dignity ! that indeed ! Out upon parole,

here it ought to be. A man's dignity ! as though
■, -' ran'c imo tlie.'^'orld to support dignity, and by an

affected

THlE COLUMBIAN' ORATOR. 259

affected distance, to make our friends feel their inferi-
ority. I consider men like coins, which, because
stamped with men's heads, pass for more than thcv
are worth. And v/hen the world is willing to treat
a man better than he deserves, there is a meanness in
endeavouring to extoj-t more ffom them.

Tru» But shall a man speak without thinking '/ Did
you ever read the old proverb, ** Think tv/ice, before
you speak once ?''

Supk, Ves, and a vile one it is. If a man speak
from the impulse of the moment, he'll speak the mean-
ing of his heart ; ar.d will probably speak the truth.
But if he mind your musty proverb, there will be
more pros and cons in his head, more hems and haws
in his delivery, than there arc letters in his sentences.
To your sly, subtle, thinking fellows, w^e owe all- the
lies, cheating, hypocrisy, and double dealing there
is m the world.

Tru, But you know that every subject has its sides ;
and we ought to examine, reilect, analyze, sift, consider,
nnd determine, before we have a i*ight to speak 5 for
the world are entitled to the best of our thoughts.
What would you think of a tradesman, who should send
home your coat, boots, or hat, half iiuished? You
might think him a 'very honest-hearted fellow ; but
you'd never employ him again.

Steph, Now, was there any need of bringing in tai-
lors, cobblers, and hatters, to help you out / They have
.nothing to do with this subject.

Tru» You don't understand me. I sfiy, if you
would never employ such workmen, a second time, why
should you justify a man for turning out liis thoughts
half iinished ? The mind labours as actually in thinking
upon, and maturing a subject, as the body does in the
field, or on the shop-board. And, if the farmer knows
when his grain is ready for the sickle, and the mechanic,
when his work is ready for his customer, the man, who

'ised to thinking, knows when he is master of his

subject,

i}60 TliE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

subject, and the proper time to communicate his
thoughts with ease to himself and advantage to others.

Steph, All this is escaping the subject. None of
your figures, when the very original is before you.
You talk about a man's mind, just as if it were a
piece of gi-ound, capable of bearing flax and hemp.
You have fiiirly brought forward a shop-board, and
mounted your tailor upon it.. Now I have no notion
of any cross-legged work in my inner man. In fact,
I don't understand all this process of thiniling. My
knowledge upon all subjects is very near the root of my
tongue, and I feel great j*elief, when it gets near the tip.

Trii, Depend on it that thousands have lost fame
and even life by too great freedom of speech*. Trea-
sons, murders, and robberies, have been generally dis-
covered by the imprudent boasting of the perpetrators.

Stcph, Depend on it, that our world has suffered
far more by silent, than by prattling knaves. Suppose
every man were to speak all his thoughts, relate all his
actions, declare all his purposes, would the world be in
danger of crimes ? No ; be assured, that magistrates,
bailiffs, thief-takers, prisons, halters, and gallows, all
owe their dignity to the contrivance of your sly, plod-
dins; mutes.

Tn^, You have let off from the tip of your tongue
a picked company of dignified substantives ; but take
liOtice that my doctrine does not extend to the midnight
silence of robbers ; but to a due caution and reserve in
conveying our thoughts to the world. And this I hope
ever to observe. And if you determine on a different
course, rest assured, that the consequences will not be
very ])leasant. [Exit.

Steph, Consequences ! that's counting chickens be-
fore they are hatched. Dignity of human nature !
Pretty v/ords ! just fit to h<?. ranked widi the honour of
thieves, and the courag'i of mo<leni duellists.

American

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 261

American Sages.

SEE on yon dark'ning height bold Franklin tread,
Heav'n's awful thundors rolling o'er his head j
Convolving clouds the billowy skies deform,
And forky liames embk/.e the blackening storm.
See the descending streams around him hurn,
Glar.cc on }ji= rod, and with his guidance turn;
He bids convicting heav'ns their blast expire,
Curbs the fierce blaze, and holds th'^imprisonM fire.
No more, when folding storm.s the vault o'erspread,
The livid glare shall strike thy face with dread ;
Nor tow'rs nor temples, shudd'ring with the sound,
Sink in the flames, and spread derUruction round.
His daring toils, the threatening blasts that wait.
Shall teach mankind to ward the bolts of fate ;
Tlie pointed steel o'ei'top th' ascending spire,
And lead o'er trembling walls the harmless lire ;
In his glad fame while distant worlds rejoice.
Far as the lightnings shine, or thunders raise their voice.

See the sageRittcnhouse, v/ith ardent eye.
Lift the long tube, and pierce the starry sky :
Clear in his viev/ the circling systems roll,
And broader splendours gild the central pole.
He marks what lavv^s th' eccentric wand'rers bind,
Copies creation in his forming mind.
And bids, beneath his hand, in semblance rise.
With mimic orbs, the labours of the skies.
There wond'ring crowds, with raptur'd eye, behold
The spangled heav'ns their mystic maze unfold ;
While each glad sage his splendid hall shall grace,
With all the spheres that cleave th' ethereal space.

To guide the sailor in his wand'ring way,
-ee Godfrey's toils reverse the beams of day.
His lifted quadrant to the eye displays
From adverse skies the counteractiuir rays :
y And marks, as devious sails bewildcr'd roll,
"Each nice gradation from the stedfast pole.

Extract

262 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech, Nov. 13, 1777,
ON American Affairs.

1RISE, my lords, to declare my sentiments on thi»
most solemn and serious suoject. It has imposed
a load upon my mind, which, I fear, nothing can re-
move ; but which impels me to endeavour its alleviation,
hy a free and unreserved communication of my senti-
ments. In the lirst part of the address, I have the'
honor of heartily concurring with the noble Earl who
moved it. No man feels sincerer joy than I do ; none
can offer more genuine congratulation on every acces-
sion of strength to the protestant succession : I there-
fore join in every congratulation on the birth of another
princess, and the happy recovery of her Majesty.

But I must stop here ; my courtly complaisance will
carry me no farther. I will not join in congratulation
on misfortune and disgrace. I cannot concur in a
blind and servile address, which approves, and endeav-
ours to sanctify,. the monstrous measures that have heap-
ed disgrace and misfortune upon us ; that have brought
ruin to our doors. This, my lords, is a perilous and
tremendous moment! It is not a time for adulation.
The smoothness of flattery cannot now avail ; cannot
save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now ne-
cessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth.
We must dispel the delusion and the darkness which
envelop it -, and display, in its full danger and true
colours, the ruin that it has brought to our doors.

Am] who is the minister ; where is the minister, who
has dared to suggest to the throne the contrary, un-
constitutional language, this day delivered from it ?
The accustomed language from the throne has been
application to Parliament for advice, and a reliance on
its constitutional advice and assistance. As it is the
right of Parliament to give, so it is the duty of the
crown to ask it. But on this day, and in (his extreme

momentouS'

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 2G3

iDoraentous exigency, no reliance is reposed on our
constitutional counsels ! no advice is asked from the
sober and enlightened care of Parliament ! But the
crown, from itself, and by itself, declares an unaltera-
ble determination to pursue measures. And v.Lat
measures, my lords ? The measures diat have pro-
duced imminent perils that threaten us ; the measures
that have brought ruin to our doors.

Can the Minister of the day now presume to expect
a continuance of support, in this ruinous infatuation ?
Can Parliament be so dead to its dignity and its duty,
as to be thus deluded into the loss of the one, and the
violation of the other? To give an unlimited credit
and support for the perseverance in measures, vvhich
have reduced this late flourishing empire to ruin and
contempt! "But yesterday, and England might have
stood against the world : now none so poor to do her
reverence." I use the words of a poet; but though
it is poetry, it is no fiction. It is a shameful truth,
that not only the power and strength of this country
are wasting away and expiring ; but her well-earned
glories, her true honors, and substantial dignity, are
sacrificed.

France, my lords, has insulted you ; she has iencour-
•aged and sustained America ; and whether America be
wrong or right, the dignity of this country ought to
spurn at the officious insult of French interference.
The ministers and ambassadors of those who arc called
rebels and enemies, are in Paris ; in Paris they trans*'
act the reciprocal interests of America and France.*
Can there be a more mortifying insult ? Can even our
ministers sustain a more humiliating disgrace ? Do they
dare to resent it ? Do they presume even to hint a
vindication of their honor, and the dignity of the State,
by requiring the dismissal of the plenipotentiaries of
America ? Such is the degradation to which they have
reduced the glories of England !

The people, Avhom they affect to call contemptible
rebels, but whose growin-g power has at last obtained

the

264 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

the name of enemies; the people with whom they
have engaged this country in war, and against whom
they now command our implicit support in every meas-
ure of desperate hostility : this people, despised as reb-
els, are acknowledged as enemies, are .abetted against
you ; supplied with every military store ; their interests
consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by your
inveterate enemy ! and our ministers dare not inter-
pose with dignity or effect. Is this the honor of a
great kingdom ? Is this the indignant spirit of England,
who, but yesterday, gave law to the house of Bour-
bon ? My lords, the dignity of nations demands a deci-
sive conduct in a situation like this.

This ruinous and ignominious situation, where we
cannot act with success, nor suffer with honor, calls
upon us to remonstrate in the strongest and loudest lan-
guage of truth, to rescue the ear of Majesty from the
delusions which surround it. The desperate state of our
arms abroad is in part known. No man thinks more
highly of them than I do. I love and honor the En-
glish troops. 1 know they can achieve any thing except
impossibilities : and 1 know that the conquest of English
America is an impossibility. You cannot, I venture
to say it, you CANNOT conquer America.

Your armies, last year, effected every thing that
could be effected ; and what was it ? It cost a numerous
army, under the command of a most able general, now
a noble lord in this House, a long and laborious cam-
paign, to expel live thousand Frenchmen from French
America. My lords, you CANNOT conquer Amer-
ica. What is your present situation there ? We do
not know the worst ; but we know, that in three
campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much.
We shall soon know, and in any event, have reason to
lament, what may have happened since.

As to conquest, therefore, my lords, I repeat, it is
impossible. You may swell every expense, and every
effort, still more extravagantly ; pile and accumulate
every assistance you can buy or borrow; traffic and

barter

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 265

barter with every little pitiful German prince, who
sells his subjects to the shambles of a foreign power ;^'
your efforts are forever vain and impotent ; doubly so
5:om this mercenary aid on which you rely. For it
irritates, to an incm-able resentment, the minds of your
enemies, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of
rapine and plunder; devoting them and their posses-^
sions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty ! If I were an'
American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign ti'oop
remained in my country, I NEVER would lay down
my arms ; NEVER, NEVER, NEVER.

Scene from the Tragedy of Cato.

Cato, Lucius, and Sempronius.
C t TT^ATHERS, we once again are met in council :

^ ' 1. Cesar's approach has summoned us together,
And Rome attends her fate from our resolves.
How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man ?
Success still follows him, and backs his crimes :
Pharsalia gave him Rome^ Egypt has since
Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cesar's.
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands
Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree
What course to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us even Lybia's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts ; are they still fix'd
To hold it out, and fight it to the last ?
Or are your hearts subdued at length, and WTOUght
By time and ill success to a submission ?
Sempronius, speak.

Sempronius., My voice is still for war.
Heav'ns ! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slav'ry or death !
No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And at the head of our remaining troops,

Y Attack

^e^ THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

Attack the foe, break through the thick array

Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.

Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,

May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.

Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help ;

Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,

Or share their fate ! The corpse of half her senate

Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we

Sit here deliberating in cold debates..

If we shall sacrifice our lives to honor,

Or wear them out in servitude and chains.

Rouse up, for shame ! our brothers of Pharsaiia

Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, to battle !

Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,

And Scipio's ghost walk's unrevengM among us.

Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason.
True fortitude is seen in great exploits
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides.
All else is tow'ring frenzy and distraction.
Are not the lives of those who draw the sword
In Rome's defence intrusted to our care ?
Should we thus lead them to the field of slaughter,
Might not th' impartial world with reason say.
We lavish'd at our death the blood of thousands,
To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious ?
Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion ?

Luc, My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'don peace.
Already have our quarrels fill'd the world
With widows, and with orphans. Scythia mourns
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions
Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome.
'Tis thne to sheathe the sword, and sparp .mankind.
U is not Cesar, but the gods, my fathers J
The gods declare against us ; repel
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle,
Prompted by blind revenge, and wild despair,
Were to refuse th^ awards of Providence,
And not to rest in Heav'n''s determination.

Aheadr

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 267

Already have we shown our love to Rome;

Now let us show submission to the gods.

We took up arras, not to revenge ourselves,

But free the commonwealth ; when this end fails,

Arms have no further use : our country's cause,

That drew our sv.ords, now wrests them from our hands,

And bids us not delight in Roman blood,

Unprofitably shed, ^Vhat men could do, .

Is done already. Heav'n and earth will witness.

If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.

Caio. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident ;
Imniod'rate valour swells into a fault ;
And fear, admitted into public councils,
Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both.
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs
Are grown thus desp'rate : we have bulwarks round us' :
Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil
In Afric's heats, and season'd to the sun :
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us,
Ready to rise at its young prince's call.
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods ;
But wait at least till Cesar's near approach
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late
To sue for chains, and own a conqueror.
Why should Rome fall a- moment ere her time ?
No, let us draw our term of freedom out
In its full length, and spin it to the last ;
So shall we gain still one day's liberty :
And let me perish ; but in Cato's judgment,
A day, an hour of virtuous liberty,
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.

Extract

-03 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR-

Extract from an Oration, delivered at Boston,
July 4, 1794, in Commemoration of American

Independence.

A MERICANS ! you have a country vast in extent,
Jr\. and embracing all the varieties of the most sa-
lubrious clirnes : held not by charters wrested from un-
willing kings, but the bountiful gift of the Author of
nature. The exuberance of your population is daily
divesting the gloomy wilderness of its rude attire, and
sploiiui?,! cities rise to cheer the dreary desert. You
have a government deservedly celebrated as " giving
the sanctions of law to the precepts of reason ;" pre-
senting, instead of the rank luxuriance of natural licen-
tiousness, the corrected sweets of civil liberty. You
have fought the battles of freedom, and enkindled that
sacred flame which now glows with vivid fervour
through the greatest empire in Europe.

We indulge the sanguine hope, that her equal laws
and virtuous conduct will hereafter aiTord examples of
imitation to all surrounding nations. That the-blissful
period will soon arrive when man shall be elevated to
his primitive character; when illuminated reason and
regulated liberty shall once more exhibit him in the
image of his Maker; when all the inhabitants of the
globe shall be freemen and fellow-citizens, and patriot-
ism itself be lost in universal philanthropy. Then shall
volumes of incense incessantly roll from altars inscribed
to liberty. Then shall the innumerable varieties of the
human race unitedly " worship in her sacred tem])le,
whose pillars shall rest on the remotest corners of the
earth, and v/hose arch will be the vault of heaven."

Dialogue

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 269

Dialogue tetween a white Inhabitant of the
T^xiTED States and a\ Indian.

1VJ f nr "\7"0UR friends, the inhabitants of the
frnue Man, J^ ^,^^j^^^ g^^^^^^ ^^..^j^ ^^ ^^^^^^, ^^^^ ^^^^

ahawk, anJ live in peace with the Indian tribes.

Indian. Justice is the parent of peace. The Indians
love war only as they love justice. Let us enjoy our
rights, and be content with yours, and we will hang
the tomahawk and scalping-knife upon the tree of
peace, and sit down together under its branches.

IV, Man. This is what we desire, and what is your
interest as wcii as ours to promote. We have often
made leagues with you; they have been as often broken.
If justice were your guide, and peace your desire, they
would be better regarded.

Ind. The White Men are robbers. We do not
choose to be at peace with robbers ; it is more to our
honor to be at war with them.

IF. Man. It is in our power to punish the aggres-
sors ; we have more warriors than the Indians ; but we
choose to employ arguments rather than force.

Ind. I have heard the arguments of White Men :
they are a fair bait ; but their intentions are a bearded
hook. You call us brothers, but you treat us like beasts ;
you wish to trade with us, that you may cheat us ; you
would give us peace, but you would take our lands, and
leave us nothing worth fighting for.

W. Man. The White Men want your lands ; but
they are willing to pay for them. The great Parent
has given the earth to all men in common to improve
for their sustenance. He delights in the numbers of
his children. If any have a superior claim, it must be
those, who, by their arts and industry, can support the
greatest number on the smallest territory.

Ind. This is the way you talk ; you act differently.

You have good on your tongue, but bad in your heart.

Y 2 I have

270 TJIE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

1 have been among White Men. I know as much about
them as you do about Red Men. What would your
people say, if poor men should go to a rich man, and tell
hira, the great Parent has given the earth to all men in
common ; we have not land enough ; you have more
than you need ; he delights in the number of his chil-
dren ; your great farm supports but few ; by our supe-
rior arts and industry, it would support many; you
may move to one corner of your land ; that is sufficient
for you ; we will take the rest. We will live together
as brothers, if you will be at peace with us ; if not, w^e^
have more warriors than you ; it is in our power to pun-
ish the aggressors. Should you call this just ? No ! no !
W, Man, Surely not.

Lid. Then justice among White Men and Red
Men is different: will you show me the difference?
I thought justice was our friend as well as yours.

IV, Man, We are governed by laws that protect
eur property, and punish the disturbers of peace.

Ind, Then by what law do you encroach upon our
property, and disturb oui- peace ? If you consider us as
your brothers, your lav/s ought to protect us as well as
yourselves.

W, Man, Our ways of living are different from
yours. We have many employments and much prop-
erty : your manners are simple, your possessions small ;
our laws, of course, will not ypply to your circumstances.
hid, I know you have many laws on pnper, and some
lhat ought to make the paper blush. We have but few ;
they are founded in justice, and written on the heart.
They teach us to treat a stranger as our friend ; to open
eur doors and spread our tables to the needy. If a
White Man come among us, our heart is in our hand ;
all we have is his ; yet you call us savages ! But that
must mean something better than civilized, if you are
civilized.

W, Man, We do not impeach your hospitality, nor
Crcnsure your humanity in many instances ; but how-
can you justify your promiscuous slaughter of the in

nocertt

I

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 271

nocent and guilty, your cniel massacres of helpless
wives and children wlio never injured you ?

Ind, If a man provoke me to tight with him, I will
break his head if I can : if he is stronger than I, then I
must be content to break his arm or his finger. When
the war-whoop is sounded, and v/e take up the toma-
hawk, our hearts are one ; our cause is common ; the
wives and children of our enemies are our enemies also ;
they have the same blood, and we have the same thirst
for it. If you wish your Vvives and children should es-
cape our vengeance, be honest and friendly in your
dealings with us ; if they have ruffians for their pro-
tectors, they must not expect safety.

W. Man. We have both the same claim from each
other ; friendship and justice are all we require. Our
ideas on these subjects are ditTerent ; perhaps they will
never agree. On one side, ferocity will not be dictated
by humanitv, nor stubbornness by reason ; on the other,
knowledg;. is not disposed to be advised by ignorance,
nor power lo stoop to weakness.

Ind, I believe we shall not make peace by our
talks. If the contention is, who has the most humanity,
let him who made us judge. Wo have no pretensions
to sujicrior knowledge ; we ask, Who knows best how
to use what they have ? If we contend for power, our
arms must decide : the leaves must wither on the tree
.of peace ; we shall cut it down v/ith the battle 4 ';e,
:;and stain the green grass that grov/s under it with your
'lalood.

W, Man. You know the blessings of peace, and the
calamities of war. If you wish to live secure in your
wigwams, and to rove the forest unmolested, cultivate
our friendship. Break not into our houses in the de-
fenceless hours of sleep. Let no more of our inno-
cent friends be dragged from their protectors, and driven
into the intiospitablc wilderness ; or what is still more
inhuman, full victims to your unrelenting barbarity !
i f you prefer war, we shall drive its horrors into your

own

272 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

own settlements. The sword shall destroy your friends,
and the nre consume your dwellings.

Ind. We love peace ; we love our friends ; we love
ail men, as much as you. When your fathers came
over the big water, we treated them as brothers : they
had nothing: peace and plenty were among us. All
the land was ours, from the cast to the west water;
from the mountains of snow in the north, to the burn-
ing path of the sun in the south. They were made
welcome to our land and to all we possessed. To talk
like ^Vhite Men, they were beggars, and we their ben-
efactors : they were tenants at will, and we their land-
lords. But we nourished a viper in our bosoms. You
have poisoned us by your luxury ; spread contention
among us by your subtlety, and death by your treach-
ery. The Indians have but two predominant passions,
friendship and revenge. Deal with us as friends, and
you may fish in our rivers or hunt in our forests. Treat
us not like servants ; v/e shall never own you as mas-
ters. If you provoke us, our vengeance shall pursue
you. We shall drink your blood ; you may spill ours.
We had rather die in honorable war, than live in dis-
honorable peace.

Extract from an Oration, pronounced at Bos-
ton, July 4, 1796.

rjpriAT the best v/ay for a great empire to tax her
X colonics is to confer benefits upon them, and,
that no rulei's have a right to levy contributions upon
the propei'ty, or exact the services of their subjects,
without their own, or the consent of their immediate
representatives, were principles never recognized by
the mhiistry and parliament of Great-Britain. Fatally
enamoured of their selfish systems of policy, and obsti-
nately determined to eflfect the execution of their ne-
farious purposes, they were deaf to the suggestions of
reason and the demands of justice. The frantic, though

transient

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. Q73

transient energy of intoxicated roj^e was exhibited in
their very act, and blackened and distorted ihe features
of their national character.

On the contrary, Americans had but one object in
view, for in Independence are concentrated and con-
densed every blessing that makes life desirable, every
right and every privilege which can tend to the hap-
piness or secure the native dignity of man. In the at-
taifiment of Independence, were all their passions, their
desires, and their powers engaged. The intrepidity
and mngnanimity of their armies; the wisdom and in-
flexible firmness of their Congress ; the ardency of their
}-)atriotism : their unrepining })atience, when assailed
by dangers and perplexed with aggravated misfortunes,
have long and deservedly employed the pen of pane-
gyric and the tongue of eulogy.

Through the whole revolutionary conflict, a consist-
ency and systematic regularity were preserved, equally
honorable as extraordinary. The unity of dej^ign and
classical correct arrangement of the series of incidents,
which completed the Epic story of American Independ-
ence, were so wonderful, so well wrought, that political
Hypercriticism was abashed at the mighty production,
and forced to join her sister Envy, in applauding the
glorious composition.

It is my pleasing duty, my fellow-citizens, to felici-
tate you on the establishment of our national sovereign-
ty ; and among the various subjects for congratulation
and rejoicing, this is not the most unimportant, that
Heaven ha^spared so many vetei*ans in the art of war ;
so many sages, who ^re versed in the best politics of
peace ; men, who were able to instruct find to govern, and
whose faithful services, whose unremitted exertions to
promote the public prosperity, entitle them to our firm-
est confidence and warmest gratitude. Uuiling in the
celebration of this anniversary, I am happy to behold
many of the illustrious remnant of that band of patriots,
who, despising danger and death, determined to be free,
or gloriously perish in the cause. Their countenances

beam

274 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

beam inexpressible delight ? our joys are increaseid by
their presence ; our raptures are heightened by their
participation. The feelings, which inspired them in;
the " times vvhich fried men's souls," are communicated
to our bosoms. We catch the divine spirit which im-
pelled them to bid defiance to the congregated host of
despots. We swear to preserve the blessings they toiled
to gain, which they obtained by the incessant labours of
eight distressful years ; to transmit to our posterity,
our rights undiminished, our honor untarnished, and
our freedom unimpaired.

On the last page of Fate's eventful volume, with the
raptured ken of prophecy , 1 behold Columbia's name re-
cprded 5 her future honors and happiness inscribed. In
the same important book the approaching end of Ty-
ranny and the triumph of Right and Justice are written
in indelible characters. Thestruggle will soon be over;
the tottering thrones of despots will quickly fall, and-
feury their proud incumbents in their massy ruins !

Then peace on earth shall hold her easy sway,
And man forget his brother man to slay.
To martial arts, shall milder arts succeed ;
Who blesses most, shall gain th' immortal meed.
The eye of pity shall be pain'd no more.
With Vict'ry's crimson banners stain'd with gore.
Thou glorious era, come I Hail, blessed time !
When full-orb'd Freedom shall unclouded shine ;
When the chaste Muses, cherish'd by her rays,
In olive groves shall tune their sweetest laj;s ;
When bounteous Ceres shall direct her car,
O'er fields now blasted with the^fires of war;
And angels view, with joy and wonder join'd,
The golden ago return'd to bless mankind !

Dialogue

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 275

Dialogue between Edward and Ha'riiy.

[Edward alone, reading.]

Enter Harry, rvith an important air*

rr IIIOW ai^ you, Ned?

/irt?;-^. J--| Edward. What, is it you, brother
Harry ? Were it not for the small part of your face,
that appears between your fore-top and your cravat, I
should never know you.

Har, My appearance is a little altered, to be sure;
but I hope you will allow it is for the better.

Edic. I wish I could, i perceive, that, some how
or other, you arc completely metamorphosed from a
plain country lad, to a Boston buck, beau, or fop :
which is the current word in your varyiiig town dia-
lect, to express such a thing as yourself?

Har, Ah, either of them will do. The young la-
dies sometimes call me Tippy Harry ^ that suits my
car the best.

Edu\ That, I suppose, means a liuh^ fop, or, as I
should express it, afoppee, who is obligcdto stand tip-
toe to reach a lady herf::^n. '

Har. One of your clownish blunders, l<in}. It
means an airy young gentleman, dressed out in com-
plete bon ton from head to foot, like myself.

Ediu. "An airy young gendcman, dressed out in
complete bon ton, k'c. &c." This definition may be of
service to me ; I will try to remoraber it. You ahvay.^
possessed one quality df a gentleman, a large share of
goodliumour : i hope you will not be angry, brother^
if I am a little inquisitive.

Har, Do, Ned, leave off using that old-il^shioned
word : I had rather you would do any thing to nic than
brother me at this rate. If you should come to
Boston, dressed as you are now, with your clumsy
shoes, coarse stockings, great small-clothes, homc-spu a

276 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

coat, and=y<ror old rusty go-to-mill hat, and shake
hands with 'me, in your awkward way ; and then, to
complete the whole, should call me brother, I should be
thunderstruck ! For my credit's sake, I should swear
it was some crazy straggler, I had seen in the country,
and given a few coppers to keep him from starving. I
would hide behind the counter, or lie rolled up in a
piece of broadcloth a week, rather than be caught in
such a scrape.

Edii}, An airy young gentleman, indeed! would
swear to half a dozen lies, hide behind the counter,
and roll yourself up in a piece of broadcloth like a silk-
worm, to save your credit ! You have improved much
beyond my expectations, Tippy Harry! This sounds
better in your refined ear than brother Harry, I sup-
pose.

Har. Yes it does, Ned, I'll assure you : that's your
sort! You begin to come on a little. Now I'll tell you
how it is, Ned ; if you* would take your old musty li-
brary here, and lay it all on the fire together, and burn
all your old-fashioned clothes with it, and then go to
Boston-^- —

Edw. What, without any clothes, Harry?

Har. Why, I think I should about as lief be seen
with ys<:u stark naked, as with your coarst?, narrow-
backed, short-waisted coat. But as I was saying be-
fore, then put yourself under the care of a tailor, bar-
ber, shoe-maker, and a dancing master ; keep a store of
English goods about three months, go to the Theatre a
dozen nights, chat with our Boston Tippies, have a
few high goes, and freeze and thaw two or three
times, for you are monstrously stiff; I say, after ofl this,
I believe, Ned, you would make a very clevei* fellow.,

Edw, The freezing and thawing is a kind of
discipline I should not so readily com])ly with. I have
heard of several of your clever fellows, and ladies of
your so7't, who were found frozen in old barns, and
behind board fences; but I never, kn.ew they were so
fortunate as to thaw again. Now, Harry, I will be

seriours

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 27?

serious with you. Your airy young gentleman, in my
opinion, is a very insipid character : far ^Dcneath my am-
bition. A few materials from behind the counter, the
tailor's needle and shears, the barber's puff and poma-
tuni, a little sheep-skin modified by the shoe-maker,
and what is the most insignificant of all, a little supple,
puny machine, that in plain English, 1 should call a
naked fool ; to strut about the streets with all this finery 5
carry it to the theatre, or dancing school ; and teach
it to say a few pretty things by rote ; these make
the gentlemen of your sort. Mine is composed of quite
different materials.

Har, Pray let me know what they arc : home-
spun, I dare say. I am superfine, you see, from, head
to foot.

Edzu, Yes, Harry, you have blundered into one
just observation. In the first place, I would lay up a
good store of knowledge, home-spun from my own re-
Hections, reading and observation ; not the second-
handed smattering of the most ignorant of all beings
who use a tongue. The tailor's, barber's, and dancing-
master's bill should not show an inventory of ail I pos-
sessed. They may make my clothes, dress my hair,
and teach me how to bow ; but there must be some-
thing more to command the bow of respect from people
of sense, the judges of real merit. In short, I would be
a gentleman tarmer ; too well informed to be influenced
by your railing newspaper politics ; too much delighted
with the bleating and playing of the flocks in my own
pasture, to read the head of Theatricals^ or be amused
with any drove of sta^e-players, that have infested our
country from Charleston to Portsmouth. And I
should be much more proud of raising one likely calf,
than as many of the most insipid of all animals, called
Tippies, as could stand in every shop in Cornhill.

Z Davit)

S78 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR,

David and Goliath.

r /■ fh '\^7"^^''^^^ is the mighty man of war, who
0 la , yy dares

Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief?

What victor king, what gen'ral drench'd in blood,

Claims this high privilege ? What are his rights ?

What proud credentials does the boaster bring,

To prove his claim '? What cities laid in ashes,

What ruin'd provinces, what slaughter'd realms.

What heads of hei^oes, and what hearts of kings.

In battle kilPd, or at his altars slain,

Has he to boast ? Is his bright armoury

Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail,

Of vanqnishM nations, by his single arm

Subdu'd ? W^here is the mortal man so bold,

So much a wretch, so out of love wdth life,

To dare the weight of this uplifted spear,

Whiqh never fell innoxious ? Yet I swear,

I grudge the glory to his parting soul

To fall by this right hand. 'Twill sweeten -death,

To know he had the honor to contend

With the dread son of Anak. Latest time

From blank oblivion shall retrieve his name,

Who dar'd to perish in unequal fight

W'ith Gath's triumphant champion. Come, advance !

Philistia's gods to IsraePs. Sound, my herald,

Sound for the battle straight !

Dav, Behold thy foe !

GoL I see him not.

Dav, Behold him here !

GoL Say, where !
Direct my sight. I do not war with boys.

Dav. 1 stand prepar'd ; thy single arm to mine^

GvL WHiy, this is mockery, minion! it may chance
To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee :
But tell me who, of all this num'rous host.

Expects

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 21V

ExpecL,-5 his death from me? Which is the man,
Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance ?

Dav, Th' election of my sov'reii^n falls on me. ^

GuL On thee! on thee ! by Dagon, 'tis too much I
Thou curled minion ! thou a nation's champion !
'Twould move my mirth af any other time ;
But trilling's out of tune. Begone, light boy !
And temj)tmc not too f^ir.

Dav, I do defy thee,
Thou foul idolater! Hast thou not scorn'd
The armies of the living God I serve ?
By me he will avenge upon thy head
Thy nation's sins and thine. Arm'd with his name,
Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe
That ever bath'd his hostile spear in blood.

Gol, Indeed ! 'tis wondrous well ! Now, by my gods.
The stripling plays the orator ! Vain boy !
Keep close to that same bloodless v/ar of words.
And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior !
Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung,
Of idle field-flowers ? Where thy wanton harp,
'Thou dainty-fing'cr'd hero ? Better strike
Its note lascivious, or the lulling lute
Touch softly, than provoke the trumpet's rage.
I will not stain the honor of my spear
With thy inglorious blood. Shall that fair check
Be scan-'d with wounds unseemly ? Rather go,
And hold fond dalliance with the Syrian maids ;
To wanton measures dance ; and let them braid
The bright luxuriance of thy golden hair ;
They, for their lost Adonis, may mistake
Thy dainty form.

Darv, I'cacp, thou unhallow'd railer !
O tell it not in Gath, nor let the sound
Reach Askelon, how once your slaughter'd lords,
By mighty Samson found one common grave :
When his broad shoulder the firm pillars heav'd.
And to its base the tott'rinsr fabric shook.

" ■ Cot.

280 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

GoL Insulting boy ; perhaps thou hast not heard
The infamy of that inglorious day,
When your weak hosts at Eben-ezcr pitch'd
Their quick-abandon'd tents. Then, when your ark,
Your talisman, your charm, your boasted pledge
Of safety and success, was tamely lost !
And yet not tamely, since by me 'twas won.
When with this good right arm, I thinn'd your ranks-,
And bravely crush'd, beneath a single blow,
The chosen guardians of this vaunted shrine,
Hophni and Phineas. The fam'd ari* itself,
I bore to Ashdod.

Dav, I remember too,
Since thou provok'st th' unwelcome truth, how all
Your blushing priests beheld their idol's shame ;
When prostrate Dagon fell before the ark.
And your frail god was shiver'd* Then Philistia,
Idolatrous Philistia flew for succour
To Israel's help, and all her smitten nobles
Confess'd the Lord was God, and the blest ark,
Gladly, with reverential awe restor'd !

Gol. By Ashdod's fane thou ly'st. Now will I meet
thee.
Thou insect warrior ! since thou dar'st me thus !
Already I behold thy mangled limbs,
Dissever'd each from each, ere long to feed
The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well!
Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks.
And toss in air thy head all gash'd with wounds ;,
Thy lips, yet quiv'ring with the dire convulsion
Of recent death ! Art tliou not terrified ?

Dav, No.
True courage is not mov'd by breath of words j
But the rash bravery of boiling blood,
fmpetuous, knows no settled principle.
\ feverish tide, it has its ebbs and flows.
As spirits rise or fall, as wine inflames,
Or circumstances change. But inborn courage,
The rc/i'rous cliild of fortitude and Faith,

Holds

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 231

Holds its firm empire in the coHslant soul ;
And, like the stedtast pole-star, never once
From the same fixM and faithful point declines.

GoL The cursCs of Philistia's gods be en thee !
This fine-drawn speech is meant to lengthen out
That little life thy words pretend to scorn.

Dav, Ha! says' t thou so? Come on then! Mark
us well.
Thou com'st to me with sword, and spear, and shield !
In the dread name of Israel's God, I come ;
The living Lorcf of Hosts, whom thou defys't!
Yet though no shield I bring ; no arms, except
These live smooth stones I gathered from the brook,
With such a simple soling as shepherds use ;
Yet all expos'd, defenceless as I am,
The God 1 serve shall give thee up a prey
To my victorious ami. This day I mean
To make th' un circumcised tribes confess
There is a God in Israel. I will give thee.
Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk,
To glut the carrion kites. Nor thee alone ;
The mangled carcases of your thick hosts
Shall spread the plains of Elah; till Thilistia,
Through her trembling tents and flying bands,
Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed !
1 dare thee to the trial !

GoL Follow me.
In this good spear I trust.

Dav. I trust in Heaven !
The God of battles stimulates my arm.
And fires my soul with ardour, not its own.

An Oration on the Powers of Eloquence, writ-
ten FOR an Exhibition of a School in Boston*,
1794.

A MIDST the profusion of interesting and brilliant

XjLobjects in this assembly, should the speaker be able

Z 2 to

2S2 THE COLUIVIBIAN ORATOR.

to engage the aiieiition of a few eyes, and a few ears, Ke
will esteem his reception flattering. To another is al-
lotted the pleasing task of closing the evening, with re-
marks on Female Edueationr'* It i.; mine to recommend
the POWERS OF ELOQUENCE, and to show the
influence which it justly challenges, over the senses,
passions, and understandings of mankind.

Eloquence consists in a capacity of expressing, by the
Toice, attitude, gesture, and countenance, the emotions
of the heart. To this art, Demosthenes and Cicero
owe their immortality; by this, the tate earl of Chat-
ham gained his celebrity ; and to this, are the great pol-
iticians, now in Europe, indebted for their distinction.
Eloquent men begin to be hear(^with attention in our
Congress; pulpit orators gain crowds, and eloquent
lawyers gain causes.

When the enlightened Statesman is discussing the
interests of a country, on which are grafted his for-
tune, fame and life, he must be eloquent. Wheri the
general harangues a brave soldiery, at the eve of a bat-
tle, on v^/hich depend their liberties and lives, he must
be eloquent. When the compassionate lawyer, with-
out hope of reward, advocates the cause of the suffer^
ing widow, or injured orphan, he must be eloquent.

But when true Eloquence is introduced into the sa-
cred desk, how elevated is the subject of the passion on
the cross ! With what animating 7,eal can the preacher
call on his hearers, to " open a highway for their God V^
With what rapture can he burst from the gloom of types
and figures, into the brightnessofthat everlasting Gospel
which brought " life and immortality to light !*' With
what heaven-taught joy can he hail the star m the East !
and with what semblance of reality may he lead the
imaginations of his audience to a sight of th6 babe in
the manger! l( he feel such subjects, he must be elo-
quent and irresistible.

May we now look back and trac6 the progress and
nfluence of Eloquence on diiicrent subjects, and at

varipns

' %><; American PiTcep'or, p. 47.

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 283

various pei'iods ? How do we feel its power, when we
hear David expressing the appearing of the Highest !
" He bowed the heavens also, and came down, and
darkness was under his feet ; he rode upon a cherub,
and did fly, and he was seen upon the wings of the
wind."'

Who can hear, without emotion, the sublime elo-
quence of the prophet Isaiah, when he announces the
future glory of the church ? "' Violence shall no more-
be heard in thy land ; wasting nor destruction within
(hy borders : but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation,
and thy gates. Praise. ''^

But in what language has the prophet Habakkuk
described the majesty of the Creator? "Before him
went the pestilence, and burning coals went foilh at
his feet : he stood, and measured the earth : he beheld,
and drove asunder the nations : the everlasting moun-
tains were scattered : the perpetual hills did bow : his
ways are everlasting." Let us pass in respectful silence
the eloquence ofHim,who "spake, as neverman spake."
But our attention is immediately arrested by the de-
fence of Paul before Agrippa ; in which he describes a
light from heaven, above the brightness of the mid-day
sun ; when he declares his conversion, and commission
to be a minister, and a witness of those things, which
he had seen, and of those things, in which the Saviour
would appear unto him. " Whereupon," says he,
" O king Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heav-
enly vision."

Nor can we fail to mention that eloquence, which
made Felix tremble on his throne. Nor can we read,
unmoved, Paul's solemn account of the resurrection ;
when, " In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,
the dep^l shall be raised, and we shall be changed."
But when we come to the vision on the isle of Patmos,
where the glory of heaven was unveiled to a man of
God, we are lost in the majesty and sublimity of the
description of things, which must be hereafter ; and
must close the sacred scriptures, convinced of the irre-

sistiblf

284 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

sistible Powers of Eloquence, when employed u/- jn di
vine subjects.

Among themes less interesting, is there one, on
w^hich these powers have been unsuccessfully employed /
We read how the eloquence of one man governed all
hearts in Greece, and how astonishing was its effect
from the immortal Orator at Rome. All civilized na-
tions can furnish facts and arguments on this subject.
Wherever arts and sciences have found a residence,
oratory has been a sure attendant.

I am obliged to pass, with regret, the characters
of D'Espremenil, Mirabeau, Burke, Fox, Flood, and
Grattan, who, wdthin our own days, have made the
Senates of three diifcrent kingdoms ring with their
eloquence. With greater reluctance must I pass the
memorable time, Vvhen all the senses, passions^and al-
most breath of five thousand people were suspended
at the admirable eloquence of Sheridan, while he de-
scribed the cruelties of Hastings on the banks of the Gan-
ges ; when with unfeeling madness that despot redden-
ed the waters with the blood of mothers and their in-
fants, and made even the river blush for the honor of
the British name.

With pleasure I bring my subject to the scenes of my
native country ; and here could, with the enthusiasm
of Columbus in his vision, present before you the lofty
Andes, the majestic Mississippi, the beautiful Ohio, the
falls of Niagara, and the lakes of the north. I might
take a view of this country, extending through the
five zones, comprehending all the climates, and pro-
ducing all the varieties^of the earth.

Our ears have heard what wonders have been
wrought in l)nited America. Our eyes see its pres-
ent happy situation. After many toils and con /».ilsions,
we at length find ourselves safe on the top of Nebo,
and our Moses yet alive at the head of our rulers.
Hence we look forward to the flattering prospects of
futurity. Our orators and poets have announced bless-
ed things in the latter days. Our prophets have

taught

TIIE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 285

taught us to expect the reality of golden dreams. The
leaves of our future history arc gilded, and the pages
are left to be filled up, with the actions of a long list
•f unamhitioxis Cesars^

We are tokl^ that on this our native spot of earth,
slavish government and slavish hierarchies shall cease ;
that here, the old prophecies^ shall be veriiicd ; that
here shall be the last, universal empire on earth, the
empire of reason and virtue ; under which the gospel
-ef peace shall have free course and be glorified; that
here '' the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leop-
ard wiih the kid, and that nation shall no more lift up
sword against nation."

When the philosopher of the East foresaw the beauty
and excellence of this Western Continent, its immense
rivers, lakes, and mountains ; cities rising from the
midst of desolation ; '= men like trees walking," where
•nee were the haunts of savage beasts : arts and man-
ners improving ; the rose budding in the desert, and
the flowers of the garden in the solitary place, rich in-
deed was the prospect. But his visions have become
9ur realities. We live to enjoy blessings, more numer-
ous than Columbus could count.

We see schools, academies, and colleges, opening
their treasures to every family ; and are taught, that
religion, liberty, and science, are constellations in the
heavens, w^hich, amidst the revolution of empires, visit
in succession, all the kingdoms and pro]>le of the earth.
We see one half of the world involved in darkness,
and oblivious sleep ; while the other is enjoying the
blessings of day, and of visiilant industry.

The day of American glory has at length dawned.
No more shall meteors of the air, and insects w ith gild-
ed wings, lead astray the benighted traveller, nor the
bleaking buzzords of the night triumph over the bird of
Jove. Prejudice, ignorance, and tyranny, arc flying
on the wings of the wind. While this day is ours, let
us be up and doing.

May

^2Q6 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

May I now introduce my subject within these walls ?
And hei^e, how extensive is the theme for my feeble
powers of Eloquence ! yet may I employ them, in sug-
gesting the motives which your sons and daughters have
to cultivate their minds. Gratitude to their parents ;
your patrona2;e ; their own ambition ; their prospects
of future" profit, usefulness, and honest fame, are among
the first.

But highly important is rendered this morning of
life and privilege to us, from a consideration, that we
are born in the best of countries, at the best of times.
While some of the human race arc suffering the ex-
treme heats of burning zones, and others are freezing
beyond the influence of benignant rays, we live in a
climate, temperate, salubrious, and healthful. While
some, inherit from their parents poverty and slavery,
we are the heirs of private, public, and social benefits.

Our eyes have been opened in a country, where the
Fatherof mercies has been pleased to condense his bless-
ings. On us beam,s the sun of Science : ours is the
hemisphere of Freedom : here are enjoyed THE
RIGHTS OF MAN ; and upon us shine, with ceaseless
splendour, the rays of the STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

Blest in the dispensations of nature, providence, and
grace, on us depends a faithful improvement of our nu-
merous talents. Early taught the shortness and value
of life, and the importance of improving each hour of
youth, while we have leisure, and the assistance of in-
structors, we early learn to be diligent. Observing,
that with our parents, the shadows of the evening be-
gin to lengthen, and that soon the wheel will cease to
turn round at the cistern ; that soon they must leave us,
and that we must fill their places, we learn to be am-
bitious and emulous to excel. But beyond these, we
have, with all other children of the universe, an argu-
ment still higher to improve these precious^days. We
live not only for ourselves, for our parents, friends, and
country ; but for the Giver of life : we live for immor-
tality. Young as wc are, and just entered the bark of

being ;

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 287

beino; ; yet like you, we are on a boundless ocean, and
an eternal voyage.

As ELOQUENCE is my theme, perhaps I may be
indulged in dwelling for the few remaining moments,
on this last most interesting subject. While enjoying
the blessings of health, and the festivities of youth, we
stand on this bridge of life, careless of the rapid cur-
rents of yesterdays and to-morrows; yet rellection
teaches that the hour is rapidly hastening, when " the
cloud-capt towers ; the gorgeous palaces ; the solemn
temples ; yea, the great globe itself, with all which it
inherits, shall dissolve, and like the baseless fabric of a
vision, leave not a reck behind." We shall survive.

Though the loss of parents and friends ; though the
frequent infirmities and vicissitudes of life, teach us
gloomily to reflect, that *' An angel's arm can't snatch
us from the grave ;" yet a sure prospect of a resurrec-
tion to ceaseless life, bids us say with triumph, "Legions
of angels can't confine us there." We look back on
the ages which have passed, and see the millions of men,
who, since the days of Adam, have been laid in the
dust. W^e see nine hundred and fifty millions of ra-
tional beings, now in full life, who must, in a few years,
be cold and in death ; and in every day of our lives,
no less than eighty-six thousand of the human race,
are laid in the grave. What oceans of tears have been
shed by surviving friendg I

How have mourning, lamentation, and woe been
heard not only in Rama, but throughout every quar-
ter of the inhabited earth ! We contemplate the time,
when these bodies of ours, now full of life and motion,
shall be cold. We elevate eur thoughts to that scene,
when the elements shall melt with fervent heat ; when
the sun shall be darkened, and the moon no more give
light : when the stars of heaven shall fall from their
places, and all nature be tumbling into iiiins.

Then the trump of God shall sound ; then shall he,
who once said, " Lazarus, come forth," descend
from heaven, with a mighty shout. Then, shall the

dead

288 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

dead hear the voice of the Son of God ; then shall they
"burst the bands of death, and rise, never to sleep again.
Then shall this mortal put on immortality, and death
be swallowed up of life.

We shall be present at this august resurrection] Soon
shall we cease to see the blue canopy of the day, and
the starred curtain of the night ; to hear the rolling of
the thunder, or see the lightning of the heavens;
scenes, which now impress us with awe and delight.
We look round creation, and see all living nature, be-
low our rank, dissolving to dust ; never to revive. We
see -the flowers of spring die, and the leaves of autumn
fade ; never to resume their beauty and verdure. But
contemplating the soul of' man, we are led to the lan-
guage of the poet,

'• See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom,

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

This subject, itself so full of Eloquence, is also full of
instruction and argument. Whatever elevates the dig-
nity of our natures, and extends our views, teaches us
to live ; daily to improve our minds ; daily to better our
hearts. May ELOQUENCE ever be improved in the
cause of learning and virtue ; ever employed in ad-
dressing important truths to the mind, inja most forcible
2nd expressive manner.

May the daughters of America wear their charms,
as attendants on their virtue, the satellites of their in-
nocence, and the ornament of their sex. May her
sons early learn the principles of honor, honesty, dili-
gence, and patriotism ; and when called to leave these
happy seats, where care is a stranger, and where learn-
ing is a free gift, be prepared for the burden and heat
of the day, and ever prove as a munition of rocks to
their country.

A Dialogue

i

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 289

A DlALOffUfi BETWEEN A ClTY GeNTLEMAN OF THE

Tox, AND A Country Farmer.

n *i TTALLOO! there, Master! What

J- A have you got m your wallet r

Farmer, Fowls, Sir, at your service.

Gent, And what do you ask a pair ? •

Farm, Fifty cents a pair for ducks, and seventy-five
cents apiece for geese and turkeys.

Gent, What is the fellow talking about ? I inquired
the price of fowls ; not of geese and turkeys.

Farm, And pray, Mister, what is the difference
between a fowl and a goose ? My bible teaches me,
that all the feathered tribe are ranged under the gen-
eral name of fowl.

Gent, Why, you numskull! don't quote scripture
to me, to prove such palpable absurdities. I can teach
you, that a goose, or turkey, is no more like a fowl,
than a human being is like one of the animal creation !

Farm, I crave your pardon, Mister. I begin to
see that I never was larn'd the right use of language ;
for, since I come among these fine gentlefolks, 1 don't
understand one half that's said to me.

Gent, So it seems. However, you have now en-
tered a good scliool to learn civilization. What I
wanted, Wc^s, a pair of those creatchures that lay eggs,
wulgarly cd lied hens.

Farm, Vvhy, begging your pardon, Sir, Jind ho-
ping no oflence, I should suppose, that, at least, one of
the sorts ] ha\^e in ni)^ wallet lays eggs, from the mul-
titude of croslins T see about your streets.

Gent, Why, you fool ; where were you bred ? I
should imagine }^ou come fifty miles off, where they
tell me the people are almost savages ; and that you
were never in market before.

Farm, It is true, 1 live more than fifty miles off,

and never was in this' great city before ; and in fact, I

A a begin

290 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. -

begin to think I never shall desire to be again ; for I
have hitherto met with pretty rough handling, 1 assure
you.

Gent, No wonder that such ignorance should ex-
pose you to insults. A man like you, who has been
brung up among savages, and not able to speak inteU
ligibly, must expect to receive severe discipline, when
he first visits a land of civilizatiois.

Farm. I begin to see vrhat a sad thing it is, espe-
cially in such a place as this, to be so destitute as I am
of the right kind of laming. I confess, that, so far
from civilization, T have never received but little more
than christianization. But I should think, even that
ought to entitle an honest, well-meaning man to bet-
ter treatment than I have met with this morning.

Gent, You have no right to complain. Such a
blundering blockhead as you are ought to think him*
self fortchunate, if he is suffered to pass the streets with-
out having his head broke.

Farm, Indeed, I have hardly escaped that. I have
been accosted a hundred and fifty times since I entered
the big town, by all sorts and sizes of folks, boch male
and female. Which, at first, indeed, appeared civil
enough ; for not a child in the street but what ma^-
ter'^d me, as mannerly as though I had teach'd school
all my days. But whenever I approached them, it
was old daddy, old man, old fellow, and so on ; rising
by degrees to such genteel language as your "Worship
seems to be master of. 1 hope no offence. Sir. The
first time 1 had the honor to be noticed, a fine gentle-
woman called to me from her window. So I civilly
entered her door ; when she squalled out, " You filthy
brute ! Have you die impudence to come in at my
front door ?" Did you not call me, madam ? replied I.
Yes, truly, says she ; but I thought you had more civ-
ilization, than to set your ugly, square toed shoes upon
my carpet. I craved her ladyship's pardon ; told her
I hope4 I should learn ^iYdizaiion from such good ex-
ample J ar;cl got off as wel! as I could.

Gent,

THE COLUiVIBIAxX ORATOR, 231

Gent, It is evident you know nothing of the world.
Fann, How sliould I, since I live n hundred miles
oiT, and never read scarcely any thing but my bible and
psalm book ?

Gent. Aye, sure enough. You arc much to be pit-
ied. Why, according to the rules of civilization, you
ollcnded the lady insufferably.

Farm, So I perceive ; though, at first, I could not
conceive, for the life of me, what harm there could be
in entering the front door, since there was no other
in the house ; nor how my shoes could give offence, in-
asmuch as they were perfectly clean.

Gent. Why, did you not just acknowledge they
were unfashionable ?

Farm, Aye, right. And mayhap she discovered
the nails m the heels ; though I could have assured
her they would not scratch ; for they were well drove,
and the heads smooth. Well, as I was saying, soon
after I escaped from her ladyship's civilities, I was stop-
ped by a 'Squire-Jooking gentleman, whose palate was
set for the same dainty that yours was, fowls. I told
hira I had as fine ones as ever were hatched. So I
shewed him the whole contents of my wallet ; when,
after examining it critically, he exclaimed, *' You
insulting puppy ! 1 have a mind in my conscience to
cane you. What, sirrah ! tell me you have fowls to
sell, when you have nothing but a parcel of poultry !"
So, giving me a kick or two, he tells me to go and
leaiTi civilization,

I Gent. And served you right enough too.
I Farm, So as I proceeded peaceably through the
street, I met a stripling, in his soldier's coat, making
the same use of his sword as I did of my staff. Having
a heavy load, and tripping my fool a little, I unfortu-
nately jostled this beardless hero. "What do you
mean, you dirty scoundrel!" he instantly exclaimed ;
Jifting up his sword at the same lime. *' Have you no
more civilization than to treat an oflicer of the navy in
such a rude manner ?" I beg j)ardon, says I. It was

purely

292 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

purely an accident. If you were not beneath my no-
tice, says he, swearing a big oath, which I dare not re-
peat ; if you were not beneath the notice of a gentle-
man, I say, I would soon lay you upon your beam ends,
you fresh water lobster! You are as destitute of civiliza-
tion, as if you had never been out of sight of land in all
your life.

Gent, You will learn in time to keep at a respect-
till distance from gentlemen of the sword. It is fort-
chunate for you, that the officer did not make daylight
shine through you.

Farm. I believe it dangerous, I confess, to ven-
ture very near gentlemen^ if these may be called such.
Well, the next person I met, I took, from his brogue,
to be a ** wild Irishman." At any rate, he was a fun-
ny fellow, and discovered some marks of civilization,
Maister, says he, have you any wery good weal in
your vallet? I do not understand Irish, Mister, replied
i. Irish! Irish! old mutton-head, said he; nor I
neither. It is enough for me that I am able to speak
good English. I axM you what you had to sell. I
am fitting out a wessel for Wenice ; loading her with
warious keinds of prowisions, and wittualling her for a
long woyage ; and. I want several undred weight of
weal, wenison, &c. with a plenty of inyons and win-
egar, for the preserwation of ealth. I assured him I
did not comprehend his meaning. It is wery nat-
chural, replied he, to suppose it, as you are but a poor
countryman and want civilization. So he peaceably
withdrew. And> now, good Mister, ^Squire, per-
haps I ought to say ; for, before you stopped me, I
heard you administering oaths ;) I say good 'Squire,
as you have condescended to give me some useful in-
struction, pray be so kind as to tell me, to what spe-
cies of animals a creature v/ould belong, which should
be, in every respect, exactly like yourself, excepting
the addition of a pair of long ears ?

Gent. I will not disgrace my.self by keeping your
company any long^jr. [Exit,]

Farm,

THE COLUMBIAiNi Ox^ATOR. 293

Farm, [aloneJ] What a strange run of luck I have
had to-day •' If this is civilization, I desire to return
to my savage haunt again. However, I don't despair
yet of meeting with people of real civilization ; for I
have always been told that this place is not without
its share. Yet I fear they have greatly degenerated
from the simple manners of their forefathers. Their
placing mere civility above Christianity is a plain proof
of it. The ancestors of this people were anxious
mainly to teach their posterity Christianity, not doubt-
ing but civility would naturally attend it. What vexes
me most is, that I can't understand their language.
For my part, I think they have but little reason to
'laugh at my pronunciation. This is the first time I
ever haird that turkeys, geese, and ducks were not
fowls. They might as well tell me, that oxen, bulls,
and cows are not cattle. 1 take this last chap to be of
the race of coxcombs ; and I think it is sometimes best,
to indulge them in their own exalted opinion of them-
selves, till experience teaches them their folly. I
know I am but a plain man ; and no one feels the
want of larning more than I do. But I am certain I
cannot appear more contemptible in this coxcomb's
eyes, than he does in mine.

Extract from a Discourse delivered before the
New- York Society for promoting the Manu-
mission OF Slaves, April 12, 1797. By Rev.
Samuel Miller.

I HAVE hitherto confined myself to the considera-
tion of slavery as it exists among ourselves, and of
that unjust domination which is exercised over the Af-
ricans and their descendants, who are already in our
country. It is with a regret and indignation which I
am unable to express, that 1 call your attention to the
conduct of some among us, who, instead of diminishing,
strive to increase the evil in question.

A a 2 While

:294 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

While the friends of humanity, in Europe and
America, are weeping over their injured fellow-crea-
tures, and directing their ingenuity and their labors to
the removal of so disgraceful a monument of cruelty
and avarice, there are not wanting men, who claim the
title, and enjoy the privileges of American citizens,
who still employ themselves in the odious traffic of hu^
man flesh.

Yes, in direct opposition to public sentiment, and a
law of the land, there are ships fitted out, every year,
in the ports of the United States, to transport the in-
habitants of Africa, from their native shores, and con-
sign them to all the torments of West-India oppression.

Fellow citizens ! is Justice asleep ? Is Humanity dis-
couraged and silent, on account of the many injuries
she has sustained ? Were not this the case, methinks
the pursuit of the beasts of the forest would be forgot-
ten, and such monsters of wickedness would, in their
stead, be hunted from the abodes of men.

Oh Africa ! unhappy, ill-fated region ! how long
shall thy savage inhabitants have reason to utter com-
plaints, and to imprecate the vengeance of Heaven
against civilization and Christianity ? Is it not enough
that nature's God has consigned thee to arid plains, to
noxious vapours, to devouring beasts of prey, and to
all the scorching influences of the torrid zone ? Must
rapine and violence, captivity and slavery, be superad-
ded to thy torments ; and be inflicted too by men, who
wear the garb of justice and humanity ; who boast the
jirinciples of a sublime morality ; and who hypocrit-
ically adopt the accents of the benevolent religion of
Jesus ?

Oh Africa ! thou loud proclaimer of the rapacity,
the treachery, and cruelty of civilized man ! Thou
everlasting monument of European and American dis-
grace ! " Remember not against us our offences, nor
the offences of our forefathers ; be tender in the great
day of inquiry ; and show a Christian world, that thou
canst suffer and forgive !"

A FORENSIQ

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 29o

A Forensic Dispute, on the Question, Are the
Anglo-A^iericans endowed with CapacitV anp
Genius equal to Europeans ?

J, 1\ /TY opinion is decidedly on the affirmative oi

' i.VA this question. In this opinion I am con-
firmed by sound argument and undeniable facts.

If nature has lavished her favours on some countries,
and dealt them out with a sparing hand in others, the
Western world is far from being the scene of her par-
simony. From a geographical survey of our country,
directly the reverse will appear.

This continent, extending through all the different
climates of the earth, exhibiting on its immense sur-
face the largest rivers and lakes, and the loftiest moun-
tains ii\ the known world, shews us that nature has
wrought on her largest scale on this side the Atlantic.

The soil is neither so luxuriant as to indulge in
sloth, nor so barren, as not to afford sufficient leisure
from its own culture, to attend to that of the mind.
These are facts, which existed before the migration of
our ancestors from Europe. The argument I shall
deduce from them, to me appears conclusive.

The soil and climate of every country is in some
measure characteristic of the genius of its inhabitants.
I^ature is uniform in her works. Where she has stint-
ed the productions of the earth, she also cramps her ani-
mal productions ; and even the mind of man. Where
she has clothed the earth with plenty, there is no de-
ficiency in the animate creation ; and man arrives to
his full vigour.

In the application of these physical causes to our na-
ture, there is an effect produced on the mind, as well
as tjie body. The mind receives its tincture from the
objects which it contemplates. This we tind confirm-
ed by the opposite sensations we feel, when viewing a
beautiful and variegated landscape, and plodding our

course

296 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.:

course over a craggy way, or uniform, barren plain.;
In these contrasted situations, it may almost be said,
that we possess two different souls, and are not the
same beings.

Those objects, which constantly surround us, must
have a more permanent eifect. Where man is doomed
constantly to view the imperfect sketches and carica-
ture paintings of nature, he forms a con'esponding part
of the group ; when placed amidst her most beautiful
rmd magnificent works, we find him elevated in thought
and complete in corporal stature^

These arguments may seem far-fetched ; but when
it is admitted that Ghimborazo is higher than Tenc-
riffe ; the Amazon and La Plata superiour to the largest
rivers in the old world ; and that America abounds
with all the productions of nature in as great plenty as
any country in Europe, premises will then be estab-
lished, from which, by my reasoning, we shall draw
the conclusion, that if the Aborigines of this country
are infcriour to the savages of other parts of the world,
fiature must have conti'adicted her ov/n first principles.

But the contrary must appear to every unprejudiced
:nind, both from reason and observation. It being
[granted that the savages on this continent possess ge-
lius and capacity, equal to those on the other, my ar-
gument is ended ; the affirmative of the question is
established •, unless those who differ from m.e should be
ible to show, that, by some process, or rather paradox
ji nature, the mental powers of our forefathers were
legenerated by being transplanted to a soil, at least, as
:ongenial and fertile, as that which gave them birth.

Should it be any longer contended against me, 1
jliould still appeal to facts, and rely on the philosophi-
:al discoveries and miscellaneous writings of a Franklin,
he heroic valour and sagacious prudence of a Wash-
ngton, the political researches of an Adams, the nu-
nerous productions in polite literature, inventions and
mprovements in the useful arts; and especially that
ipirit of enterprise, which distinguishes our nation.

On

THE COLUMBIAN CRATOR. 297

On these I should rely to vindicate the honor of my
country, and to combat that prejudice, which would
degrade the capacity and genius of Americans.

B. I have heard your argument with patience, and
shall answer it with candour. It is readily granted, that
there are as large rivers, extensive lakes, and jolty
mountains, in America, as in any other part of the
world ; but I ata totally unacquainted with the art of
measuring the capaaty and genius of men, by the height
of the mountains they gaze upon, or the breadth of the
river, whose margin they chance to inhabit.

Whether the savages of our deserts possess mental'
powers equal to those of other countries, is as foreign
to my purpose, as the Chimborazo, Amazon, or La
Plata. I shall admit your premises, and look tor the
materials of my argument on a ground you have slight-
ly passed over, to confute the conclusion you have
drawn from them. .

The question is, whether the capacity and genius ot
Americans is equal to that of Europeans ?

Let us adopt an unexceptionable rule ; *' Judge the
tree by its fruit." If the literary productions and
works of genius of our countrymen are found superiour
to those of Europeans, the affirmative of the question
must be true ; if inferiour, the negative, without argu-
ment, is supported by fact.

Here the balance evidently turns in my favour.
Europe can boast its masters in each of the sciences,
and its models of perfection in the polite arts. Few
Americans pursue the path of science ; none have pro-
gressed, even so far as those bold and persevering
geniuses of other countries, who have removed the ob-
stacles and smoothed the way before them.

If there chance to spring up among us one whose in-
clination attaches him to the fine arts, the beggar's pit-
tance, instead of fame and profit, becomes his portion.
He is an exotic plant, thatmust be removed to some more
congenial soil, or perish at home for want of culture.
It is far from mv intentions to say any thing m

derogation

S95 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

derogation of those respectable characters, on whotn
you rely to vindicate the literary honor of our country*
But what will be the result of a comparison between £i
few correct authors, the miscellaneous productions,
and casual discoveries, which we boast of as our own,
within a century past ; and the long and brilliant cata-
logue of profound scholars^ celebrated writers, and
those exquisite specimens of taste and genius in the
fine arts, w^hich have adorned almost every country of
Europe, within the same period ?

This comparison would be disgraceful indeed to
America. It is granted, that her sons are industrious^
brave, and enterprising ; but, if prudent, they will cer-
tainly decline the contest with most European nations,
when the palm of genius is the object of dispute.

C. Different climates undoubtedly have a different
effect on the bodies and minds of those who inhabit
them ^ and local causes, in the same climate, may be
favourable, or adverse to the intellectual powers.

A pure, temperate atmosphere, and romantic scene-
ry, are productive of clear intellects and brilliant imagi-
nation. America is far from being deficient in these
advantages. The oratory, councils, and sagacity of
its natives, prove that their conceptions are by no
means ^cramped by physical causes.

This being granted, which cannot be denied, it will
be extremely difficult to show a reason, why the men-
tal powers of our ancestors, or their descendants, should
suffer a decay in this country, so favourable by nature
to sound judgment and brilliancy of thought.

Instead of forcing ourselves into such an absurd con-
clusion, we shall make an obvious distinction, which
will lead to a conclusion, not derogatory to the Amer-
ican character; a distinction between natural genius,
and its improvement by art. One depends on natural
causes ; the other, on the state of society.

With a well supported claim to the former, it is no
dishonor to acknowledge ourselves inferiour to the elder
nations of Europe in the latter. Considering the in-
fant

THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR. 290

lant state of our country, and the nature of our gov-
ernment, we have more reason to boast, than be asham-
ed of our progress in the fine arts.

If not equal m this respect, to our mother country,
we have made more rapid improvement than any other
nation in the world. Our government and habits are
republican ; they cherish equal rights, and tend to an
equal distribution of property. Our mode of education'
has the same tendency to promote an equal distribution
of knowledge, and to make us emphatically a " repub-
lic of letters :" I would not be understood adepts in the
fine arts, but participants of useful knowledge. "

In the monarchical and aristocratic governments of
Europe, the case is far different. A few privileged or-
ders monopolize not only the wealth and honors, but
the knowledge of their country. They produce a few
profound scholars, who make study the business of their
lives ; we acquire a portion of science, as a necessary
instrument of livelihood, and deem it absurd to devote
our wliole lives to the acquisition of implements, with-
out having it in our power to make them useful to
ourselves or others.

They have their thousands who are totally ignorant
of letters ; we have but very few, who are not instruct-
ed in the rudiments of science. They may boast a
small number of masters in the fine arts ; we are all
scholars in the useful ; and employed in improving the
works of nature, rather than imitating them.

So strong is our propensity to useful employments,
and so sure the reward of those who pursue them, that
necessity, " the mother of invention," has reared but
few professional poets, painters, or musicians among
us. Those, who have occasionally pursued the imitative
arts, from natural inclination, have given sufficient
proof, that even in them, our capacity and genius are
Jiot inferiour to those of Europeans ; but the encourage-
ment they have met shows that the s]:)irit of our habits
and government tends rather to general improvement in
the useful, than partial perfection in the amusing arts.

. ExiRACf

300 THE COLUMBIAN ORATOR.

' ' ' ■ " .■II... I < I -

Extract from an Oratiojv, delivered at Bos-
ton, March 5th, 1730; by Jonathan Mason^
JuN. Esq.

^"^HE rising glory of this western hemisphere is al-
X ready announced ; and she is summoned to iier
seat among the nations of the earth. We have pub-
licly declared ourselves convinced of the destructive
tendency of standing armies. We have acknowledged
the necessity of public spirit and the love of virtue, to
the happiness of any people ; and v/e profess to be sen-
sible of the great blessings that flow from them. Let
us not then act unworthily of the reputable character
we now sustain. Let integrity of heart, the^spirit of
freedom, and rigid virtue be seen to actuate every
member of the commonwealth.

The trial of our patriotism is yet before us ; and we
have reason to thank iieaven, that its principles are
so well known and diflused. Exercise towards each
other the benevolent feelings of friendship ; and let
that unity of sentiment, which has shone in the field,
be equally animating in our councils. Remember that
prosperity is dangerous ; that though successful, we
are not infallible.

Let this sacred maxim receive the deepest impression
upon our minds, that if avarice, if extortion, if luxury,
and political corruption, are suffered to become popu-
lar among us, civil discord, and the ruin of our coun-
try will be the speedy consequence of such fatal vices.
But while patriotism is the leading principle, and our
laws are contrived with wisdom, and executed with
vigour; while industry, frugality and temperance,
are held in estimation, and we depend upon public
spirit and the love of virtue for our social happiness,
peace and affluence will throw their smiles upon the
bro.w of individuals ; our cominoHwealth will flourish ;
our land will become a land of liberty, and AMERICA
an asylum for the oppressed. ^

END,

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